


Dance with the Devil

by Toryb



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Discussions of death, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, I treat Hell like a Corporate complex, Including but not limited to moments where Jughead is startled and perplexed by human invention, Magic, Normal humans Betty and Archie, Or maybe closer to medium burn if i'm honest, Pride Demon!Veronica, Prince of Hell!Jughead, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, binding, dark themes abound, its complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-01-14 12:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18476203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: The Hall of Time is an endless pathway, continually expanding as the population on the earthly plane does, lined with clocks spinning tirelessly. At 11:57 at night, Elizabeth Cooper's clock stops. And then, suddenly and without warning, it starts to whirl again. It goes faster this time. There is a franticness to the hands now and the other Reapers call each other forward to witness the spectacle. They can tell by the way it trembles and shakes, clattering to the ground as shattered glass paints the ground, leaving a large burn in the wall where it once hung. One of Reapers reaches out to touch it, but it sears his hand so painfully he drops it again. Everyone knows then that there is a demon above playing interference in the human world in ways they are not supposed to. They bring it forward to their Princess, their clockmaker, who takes one look at the giant snake now etched into the back and sighs."Oh Jughead, what the hell have you done?"-or-Jughead Jones is Prince of Hell and Betty Cooper is a normal human girl caught in the crossfire.





	1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, hello everyone! it is me, Tory, the human literally incapable of not starting WIPs. And boy, do I just have a lot of them. But with Spring Fever and this idea having been sitting heavy on my mind for awhile (going through MANY interactions over the course of half a year), I figured it was a now or never moment. I want to thank @miss-eee endlessly for putting up with my ideas and always encouraging me to write the weird that festers in my soul.
> 
> Before we start, there are a few things I'd like to discuss. And if you don't read this, that's totally cool, but don't say I didn't warn ya!
> 
> This is a fic about the Devil. Angels. Demons. Hell. While there is going to be a lot of inspiration from Christian religions, I am also going to go off the cuff with my own interpretations. Like, I've literally woven corporate ideology into Hell. Which, if you ask me, is not TOO far of a stretch, but I digress. There is going to be discussion of religious elements, because that comes with the territory. So while I think it is important for me to inform you I am not a particularly religious individual, my family is, and I also went to a Catholic college and have taken multiple courses on religion. (I read the whole bible cover to cover.) If I offend you, that is not my intention. I will treat it with respect as I treat everything I ever bring into fiction with respect. However, please keep in mind that this work is exactly that. Fictional. It in no way is meant to reflect any one religion or beliefs. If it does not line up with you and your beliefs that's totally fine! Obviously, FP Jones is not actually the devil himself (debatable to some though). So this is my catch all disclaimer given that I know religion and religious theories can be a bit of a hot button issue to some. With that, I want it to be clear I'm not going to really be discussing religion as an entity, more religious element, themes, and concepts.
> 
> Also, one more thing, if you peep the Archie/Veronica tag, please not it's not going to be as prominent as the Bughead, but it will get some airtime.
> 
> So um, yeah! Hope you enjoy <3

It’s a dark night in Riverdale, the kind of night where the stars can barely cut through the inky blackness that has consumed the sleepy little town, the kind of night that leaves you wondering if there is anything beyond the darkness. The kind of night that feeds the would of monsters and demons and wicked things tucked in their own planes of reality awaiting an night like this. It’s the kind of night he knows that witches love and he can almost hear the coven in Greendale howling at the sky. He feels a pull from there, like someone is trying to summon him. Sabrina, he reckons, since she loves to play games and make deals with him. But tonight he is too busy to be meddling in witchly affairs. He has a job to do and it must be done before he can return back to his home in the Underworld.

 

Jughead takes a step forward from the shadows and is suddenly bathed in the fluorescent glow of the light posts lining the side street he had materialized in. He hadn’t focused enough and ended up farther off target than he wanted, which means more walking. It’s a good thing he knows this place. He has been here before. Just last week he visited an elderly man to help him ease into the sweet subtle oblivion of eternal sleep. A horn honks and in the distance, he can hear the screech of tires, the crunch of metal, and he waits. He waits like the whole town waits with bated breath only to be met with a deafening silence. One. Two. Three minutes pass and then suddenly he can hear the sirens and see the flashing blue and red lights. But this, currently, is not any of his business. If someone were to die in that crash immediately, he would have been informed before he stepped out of Hell this morning. 

 

Instead, he looks down at the small scroll furled in the palm of his hand, watching as it floats up before him and he can check the names on his list for the thirtieth time that day. In scrolling gold ink, he can see two names on his route.

 

_ Penelope Blossom - 47 Years Old - Strangulation - Clifford Blossom - TOD: 20:36 _

 

_ Clifford Blossom - 48 Years Old - Gunshot Wound to the Head - Cheryl Blossom - TOD: 20:41 _

 

There’s a blood bath happening tonight in the Blossom household it seems, not that he should be at all surprised by that news. They have always been a volatile bunch. It had been Jughead himself who had come to find the founder of the Blossom empire bleeding out on his rug thanks to a jealous brother. He looks down at the clock on his wrist and watches it whirl and twist in ways that the human clocks don’t, the way that is so beautiful, the kind of craftsmanship that only his sister could have put together, the wicked little prodigy. There are three hands twisting at the same time, at the top he can find the countdown timer that tells him he has thirty minutes and some change before he has to start swiping up souls.

 

Before he can determine the best course of action for tonight he feels a heat in his hand. The scroll begins to shake and he sees a new name etch out on his list. It seems to be a busy night in Riverdale.

 

_ Elizabeth Cooper - 21 Years Old - Massive Internal Bleeding from Car Collision - Reginald Mantle - TOD: 23:57 _

 

He looks down at his watch to catch the time on the Earth. 20:30. Plenty of time to get his work down and have time to play.

 

This death is a sad story, but not one he hasn’t seen before. If he strains his ears enough he can hear the belabored breathing in the distance, the deafening scream of a woman who sees the mangled body of her daughter being pushed into an ambulance on a bleach white stretcher. The last human part of him — or maybe the part that’s closer to God than monster — feels a spear of sympathy cut right through his heart. But before it can linger and pollute his mission, he steels himself again and shuts off the sound.

 

The golden hands on his wristwatch start to whirl wildly again as the red numbers flash to let him know he has limited time to claim the Blossom souls. With a flick of his hand, the scroll folds neatly back into the air and disappears into a puff of black smoke. He pulls the unassuming grey sweater tighter around his lithe frame and walks slowly through the streets, avoiding the tens of curious onlookers who have come to watch the chaos of a car crash. Jughead looks away. They always make him sick.

 

Riverdale is one of his favorite places to visit. Even though his job is morbid, he clings to the simpleness of this small town. The road has cracks from years of neglect and he can see into each and every neighborhood window. He passes a fluttering paper haphazardly tapped to a street light that informs him the last showing of the Twilight Drive-In will be two weeks from tomorrow night. His heart aches and he wishes that the human world had not moved so fast. They hurdle now towards oblivion.

 

He decides to take a trip there tomorrow when he can. Usually, Friday night is busy for the reapers but being the Prince of Hell allows him certain advantages. Climbing up the corporate ladder quickly, however, is not one of them. He started like everyone else, a simple demon of gluttony hanging around at pubs and influencing humans to eat until they heaved. Sometimes Jughead would linger around clubs to watch frat boys drink to the point of liver failure but the appeal of that had always been lost of him.

 

The Blossom Manor, Thornhill it’s called, finally looms before him. It is as opposing as ever. The Victorian architecture is reminiscent of the time he was born into. He would walk the streets of London presenting people with contracts that gave them the greatest of fantasy fulfillment. But now he’s a reaper and instead of signing away souls, he is here to pull them from their earthly bodies and send them up to the scales to be weighed for their sins. He’s sure by the looks of Penelope and Clifford’s records that they are the kind of people who will end up at his father’s mercy for centuries to come.

 

The shot rings out against the maple trees and he knows it’s time. Jughead slinks into the room and spots who he assumes to be the heiress Cheryl Blossom — the blood splattered on her white dress gives her away, as does the coldness in her eyes as she sits perched on the love seat and calmly explains to the operator on the phone what horrors have occurred in Thornhill amidst the still warm dead bodies of her parents, her brother’s blood seeping into the carpet. He walks with ease around the corpses until he’s perched between them. From the ether he produces two small vials that, when uncorked, slowly being to suck the souls of the deceased from the air. It takes a few minutes for the magic to work but he sees the souls slip through their lips. Even after decades, he is still mesmerized by it all.

 

Clifford’s soul is as black as the night sky and Jughead knows without a doubt now this man will be thrown into the worst torture chamber they have at their disposal. Penelope’s is more complex, with purple strings threaded throughout a grayness that looks like the plume of smoke from one of her long cigarettes. When the deed is done and the bottles are corked, he snaps again and there’s a sudden coldness in the air now as he sees Cheryl shiver. Sympathy propels him forward and he waves his hand in steady circles until her shoulders relax. It’s the best he can do. He is, by all rights, a heavenly angel, cursed by his bloodline more than his heart. This is not the case for many of his peers and he has always felt the intensity of their judgemental gaze. Sometimes he hears whispers from his father about how dangerously soft of heart he is, how one day God may pluck him from his father’s grasp and give him wings so bright and white they would blind them all. Sometimes Jughead isn’t sure really how bad that would be.

 

There’s a few hours before he has to go and reap Elizabeth’s soul, so he makes his way through town to his favorite haunt, Pop’s Shoppe, a retro diner on the edge of town. His father has a deal with the owner Pop Tate, something to keep the business booming even during hard times. It’s wicked, of course, but with it comes respect from Pop. He knows who Jughead is without having to say a thing so when the bell rings overhead and he tucks himself into the old vinyl of a corner booth it doesn’t take long before there’s a coffee milkshake and a basket of onion rings sitting in front of him. He grins up at the elderly man. There’s a lot of years left on his clock — though truthfully the clocks in the Hall of Time there are not always correct with the wildness of Earth — and Jughead has checked in more times than he cares to admit. The loss of Pop Tate and his restaurant would be something truly disheartening.

 

“Busy night?” Pop asks with a smile as he slides the burger in front of Jughead. It looks as delicious as it always does, neon American cheese melting off the sides.

 

His stomach growls and he grins up at Pop. “Busier than usual. There’s going to be a lot of funerals soon.”

 

The smile on the old man’s face turns solemn and Jughead is once again reminded of the fragility of humanity. He can see the tired lines etched into Pop’s skin and the deepness of the sunspots that the radiant light has left on him. Suddenly, he is overcome with a pang of intense sadness.

 

Jughead has lived nearly all his formative years amongst the humans. It took nearly half century before his father let him out of his sights, far too anxious to allow him an inch of freedom until he was sure Jughead knew he was a demon with extraordinary power. There were tons of lessons and he was monitored for longer than the average new hire to Hell Corporate. But once all those shackles were shaken away he was free to explore the earthly plane. And explore it he did. With wide eyes and childlike excitement he dedicated his days not signing contracts sneaking inside of human book stores and snatching things for his collection.

 

He loves humans. He loves their innocence and the fire that always burns so brightly behind their gaze. There is such a beauty in their struggle against futility that he feels compelled to watch it unfold.

 

“Well, I suppose everything happens for a reason,” Pop nods, suddenly unable to meet Jughead’s gaze. This is not something outside of commonplace. Most humans who know what he is are unable to look at him for very long.

 

Jughead hums but doesn't argue. If Pop can keep his spirits up with white lies than who is he to argue? Who is he to explain that life on Earth is controlled chaos at best and the very fabric of fate is subject to the whims of not only humans but all otherworldly beings that dare to dance with them? It’s why there’s always a reaper on call, because humans are terrifyingly unpredictable and the Hall of Time is forced to correct it’s times at a moments notice.

 

He eats quickly. The clock on his wrist starts to buzz again and duty calls him forward. Jughead disappears from the little diner with a snap of his fingers. He’s sure when Pop returns with a slice of cherry pie and double scoops of whipped cream he’ll sigh and roll his eyes before putting it in the fridge for later.

 

Despite the four-car pile up on the only busy street in town, the hospital is surprisingly quiet. It’s eerie to watch the vintage horror story dressed staff flitter around from room to room. The few night nurses are gathered around a board whispering conspiratorial to each other. They discuss their patients and one girl, younger and looking much more solemn, points to the board where the name “ _ Elizabeth Cooper _ ” is scrawled in hurried writing.

 

Jughead stalls and indulges in their conversation, tucked securely in a pocket of reality where he cannot be seen. The nurse sighs while making an updated note about pain management.

 

“The doctor isn’t sure she’ll wake up. She only broke her arm, but apparently, she was driving her best friend’s old truck and the airbag had a malfunction. It crushed her ribs and punctured a lung. It’s all about helping with her pain right now.” She’s so clinical that one might miss the way her eyes start to tear up. “I went to school with her, you know. She ran the newspaper and was a cheerleader and so just, nice to everyone. I used to tell my friends I thought she was some kind of robot because no one could possibly be that cheerful all the time.”

 

“She’s Alice and Hal’s daughter, right? I heard she graduated early from Columbia. Only coming back to help her parent’s at the Riverdale Register for a while before going back for her master’s. At least that’s what her mom kept saying in between her hysterics.”

 

“She’s a grieving mother,” the third nurse says, gently wrapping her arm around the first one to try and comfort her. “Can you blame her?”

 

After that they disperse, Jughead closes his eyes and focuses his ears on the silent noises around him. He is quickly overwhelmed with a cacophony of voices as all of Riverdale General’s residence begin to reveal their tucked away thoughts of Betty Cooper.

 

_ She was so smart. _

 

_ It’s such a shame. _

 

_ Whenever young people die it’s sad. I hope her family will be okay. _

 

_ Maybe she deserved it. She always sort of seemed like a bitch in high school, floating above it all like she thought was worth more than us. _

 

_ I wonder if her sister will end up in the psych ward again because of it? _

 

But then louder, far above the rest, he hears the wailing sounds of a guilty conscious. A cry for someone, anyone, to listen. It isn’t quite a prayer so Jughead isn’t left feeling the usual queasiness as he focuses all his attention on the young man tucked into the old chair outside of Betty’s room.

 

_ I killed her. I killed my best friend. _

 

The first thing Jughead notices is the fluorescent flame of his red hair. It’s especially bright in the flickering dim glow of hospital lights. There are broken tears still running down his sun-kissed skin even as he stirs in a restless and fitful sleep. He’s wearing basketball shorts and an NYU football sweater, dirty sneakers tucked underneath him, arms wrapped tightly around a worn teddy bear. One of it’s beeded eyes is missing and it reeks of childlike innocence. Jughead stares curiously at the toy until he hears it again.

 

_ I never should have let her take my truck. I killed her. I killed her. I killed Betty. _

 

He repeats it like a mantra until Jughead gets too tired of hearing it and shuts off the sound once again.

 

This is one of a thousand scenes exactly like this that he has seen before. Hospitals are a place he is familiar with — it’s where most of his work as a reaper is done. The sickening smell of the bleach, the quiet clatter of nurses and doctors, the sterile and cold hallways that seem to be as good at ringing out the last bit of sanity from someone as his father is. He has witnessed this moment of helplessness countless times and yet this man’s quiet wails threaten to break his composure. If his father could see him now, he would be utterly ashamed.

 

Before he can properly put himself right again, Jughead sees from the corner of his eye one of the lower level demons materialize from the ether. He steps out from the wall and reaches out to touch the man. It looks the same as nearly all of them do, the demons who haven’t been promoted or managed to create for themselves a properly functioning physical form that matches with the people living on earth. It exists as a vague outline of a monstrous creature, a long tail hitting heavy to the ground as his body glitters in inky black smoke, a wisp of barely corporeal energy. He can't quite make out what type of creature it is, but he knows demons of sorrow tend to linger in hospital halls.

 

The demon leans down to whisper into the man’s ear and Jughead immediately knows that it must be attempting to infiltrate the dreams of the grieving to meet his soul contract quota. He has always hated them. It’s in every demons nature to prey upon the pitfalls of humanity, but at least when he was conning hotel managers with a four-course meal they weren’t completely vulnerable like this. This is cheap. Honorless.

 

He waves his hand towards the demon to catch his attention. At first, it seems angry, upset at the direction and break in its concentration, but soon black empty eyes catch on Jughead and the powerful aura he radiates. He knows immediately that it makes the lower demon sick. He is Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third, son of the fallen angel, reaper of Riverdale, and Prince of Hell. Anything with a brain would be wise to quiver before him.

 

“But—” the demon starts, confused. They all have contracts and his father is a hardass about getting them filled. There’s likely going to be consequences for interfering, but right now he doesn’t care.

 

“Go.”

 

Immediately it falls silent and, reluctantly, slowly flickers in and out of this realm until the only evidence he was ever there to begin with is the sweat on the human man’s brow. He whimpers in his sleep and twists to the side, uneasy, in pain. Jughead’s heart clenches again. As much as his father tries to deny their nature, there is angelic blood running through their veins and as such, a desire for benevolence that they often have to chase away with wickedness.

 

Jughead reaches out, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. It’s the same sort of calming energy he released onto Cheryl at Thornhill. This is a kindness that will earn him more than a few lashing but these are repercussions he is willing to take. As long as he doesn’t have to explain himself to his mother. FP is one thing, but Gladys is another, not above sending her children to “rough it” in the lower circles of Hell just so they can appreciate the hardships she had to endure while clawing her way up from a low-level greed demon to become the right-hand concubine of the devil himself.

 

When he finally enters the hospital room all he can hear is the steady beep of the heart monitor. It won’t be long now until he uncorks his bottle and the hospital will come to life as the flat line rushes all hands forward in a desperate attempt to save her mortal soul. He picks up his papers and flips quickly through them. Weighing Clifford and Penelope’s souls would be more a formality than anything. Even back home they were rather famous for the type of troubles they had gotten into, the havoc they had reeked. Clifford owed no less than three different demons similar debts — his soul, for starters, but there were other stipulations to the contracts that made Jughead sort of sick to his stomach. Penelope would likely be peeled apart layer by layer until she was a singular tethered thread of pure something (whether that be lust, or greed, or something entirely different would be determined later) to be fed into the tightly wound metal machine where all wicked souls were processed for half a century, before being spit back out as a lowly demon, running coffee to corporate executives.

 

Elizabeth, on the other hand, would be a bit more complicated case. Line after line of good deeds, followed by actions he would love to hear the stories behind — especially breaking into her music teacher’s car only to find a gun and unearth an identity falsifying agency — labeled as ‘bad deeds with good intentions.’ Intentions mattered of course but they were a lot harder to decipher than simple things like stabbing your neighbor or feeding a third world country out of your own pocket. Often times intentions were far less pure in nature, with layers of complexity that left souls in purgatory while God and the Devil alike debated over who had the rightful claim. But these were busy men who did not have the time nor the patience to argue over mortal souls when hundred of them were being deal with every day. The paperwork alone was too much. As such, a task like this would often be left to two delegates, meaning Jughead and Kevin (an Archangel intern) would end up arguing semantics and fine print for weeks until someone broke out of frustration, exhaustion, or a combination of the two.

 

He closes the binder with a snap and watches it fade away the same way the demon had a few minutes before. It’s eerie in this room. Odd. He’s not sure how he feels as he takes a step forward to get closer to Elizabeth.

 

When she comes into view, painted in the soft glow of the moon, he is suddenly struck by how beautiful she is. Even with her arm in a cast — he notices a hasty squiggle of the name  _ Archie  _ on the wrapping — and a million tubes sticking out of her, his cold heart beats a little quicker. Her golden hair is spread out around her like a halo. Her lips are pink and soft, taking shaky, desperate breaths as her lungs ache from strain. He doesn’t have to strain his eyes much at all to hear the toll it is taking on her body, so close to the brink of collapse.

 

Jughead looks down at his watch and sees it. One minute until Elizabeth’s scheduled time of death. He readies the bottle but there’s hesitation in every movement he makes. This doesn’t feel right, though he can’t exactly pinpoint why.

 

The hands spin faster in anticipation. The numbers flash red as a panic he hasn’t felt since his first time as a reaper starts to set in. He tries to ignore it. He tries to push down every hesitant thought that floods his brain, echoes of the words he plucked straight from the hundreds of minds thinking about Elizabeth Cooper. These are her final moments. So fate, the universe, the people of Earth have all decided.

 

Just as he’s about to pull the cork from the bottle, he hears it; a single, earth-shattering whimper that echos in the chamber of his mind.

 

_ I don’t want to die.  _

 

_ Not yet.  _

 

_ Please not yet. _

 

The bottle is gone then, even as his watch hisses in anger and the timer starts to count backward, nagging him in the same way his mother would for any sort of failure, anything she deemed to be a weakness. There’s a gentle flush in her cheeks. Her pointer finger twitches once. There’s a fight left in her that he has never seen before. He knows her body is giving out but if he doesn’t pull the cork she’ll be trapped in there forever, floating in agony she can never awaken from, screaming out until another reaper comes to collect.

 

It’s a decision that makes itself. An incredibly stupid decision, yes, but it’s one Jughead finds himself hard pressed to not make. He reaches down and presses his palm against the exposed skin of her arm. Slowly, the serpent draped around his arm awakens, slithering from his flesh to hers, peeking underneath the cast and winding up her biceps until it coils tightly around her neck. Elizabeth gasps in pain, her whole body writhing as it reacts to the dark energy of his mark being slowly seared into her skin.

 

The ink melts until the snake seems satisfied, slithering away to make herself at home somewhere on her new body. He can feel her contentment and it eases some of his worries. Eve is particularly with her housing arrangements, having taken years to warm up to him, so a weak willed human would have been killed quickly by her venomous bite. This is where she will live until Jughead takes her back, severing the bond, or something else steps in the way of the connection. He has saved Elizabeth’s life by tying it with his in such intricate knots that the consequences of such a decision are nearly unfathomable.

 

For a second, he regrets it all. But then, she tries to moves again, more assured, less shaky, and her eyes start to flicker. Jughead leans down until he can see every inch of her skin, every crack in her lips, every fleck of worn eyeshadow, and breathes out as hard as he can. The first thing she breathes in is the heavy thick smoke of his essence. Frankly, he is not sure this is even going to work. This isn’t something he’s done before, and really isn’t common practice in the demon world, not anymore, not since his father tightened the reins and made it more business than pleasure, instilling rules to help Heaven and Hell coexist a little better. This is a flagrant breaking of at least a dozen treaty rules. 

 

And he doesn’t care.

 

She gasps and he is suddenly face-to-face with a brilliant pair of green eyes. They regard him with a sense of vague unease, but she’s slow with confusion as she tries to assess the world around her. He smiles as pride begins to swell in his chest. “Good morning, Elizabeth. I hope you slept well.”

 

* * *

 

The Hall of Time is an endless pathway, continually expanding as the population on the earthly plane does, lined with golden clocks spinning tirelessly. Attendants check the clocks periodically to ensure they are all functioning how they are supposed to. They make notes and send out adjustments to the Reapers on their rounds.

At 11:57 at night, the clock marked Elizabeth Cooper stops. 

And then, suddenly and without warning, it starts to whirl again. It goes faster this time. There is a franticness to the hands now and the other Reapers call each other forward to witness the spectacle. They can tell by the way it trembles and shakes, clattering to the ground as shattered glass paints hallway, leaving a large burn on the wall where it once hung. One of Reapers reaches out to touch it, but it sears his hand so painfully he drops it again with a shout. Everyone knows then that there is a demon above playing interference in the human world in ways they are not supposed to. In ways their laws dictate is illegal. Some of the older once recognize the magic from before the treaties were enacted, but this kind is so powerful it’s nearly nauseating to behold. Someone brave wraps it in a bubble of smog to keep the power contained so they can bring it forward to their Princess, their clockmaker, who takes one look at the giant snake now etched into the back and sighs.

"Oh Jughead, what the hell have you done?"


	2. The Binding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have words for how excited I am that so many people are enjoying this fic already. Even though people tell me how much they love my way out there niche ideas, I admit that when I first post them I have this dread that sits in the pit of my stomach of "but what if this one isn't good." SO i'm just, really thankful and grateful about all the positive feedback this one has gotten. I'm HONORED and WOOED and THANKFUL for each and every single person who leaves a comment or a kudos or messages me on tumblr. Seriously I just, THANK YOU to you guys.
> 
> Also, with that, thank you to @miss-eee. There will never be words to describe how fucking much I adore that gal for being my beta and encouraging me in every way for all of my insane fic ideas. And being with me every step of my brain storming process when I go from intricate plot details to “but what if Jughead is afraid of the toaster?” at the literal drop of a hat.
> 
> We're in for a bit of a slow burn, which is a tag I will now be adding. I originally thought this might have around 10 chapters but I'm taking things slower than I thought so we might be closer to 15 range. I hope you all are buckled up and read for that, because I certainly am!

When Betty wakes up and sees black eyes staring down at her, she’s nearly positive she is dead — that the man standing before her is the Grim Reaper and she now has to come to terms with the end of her short human life. She’s only twenty-two. She hasn’t even had the chance at a normal job, a normal life. Riverdale was supposed to be a temporary transitional phase and well, she guesses that’s true in a lot of ways. Being in town for less than twenty-four hours before dying is about as temporary as it gets.

 

The greatest hits of her life flash before her eyes, the same way it had when she felt the metal of the truck crunch around her with no cushion for protection. Her family has always been religious at least in a “go to church every Sunday so we’re part of the community and everyone knows we’re proper God-fearing Christian small town folks” kind of way. She remembers getting dressed up for Easter church in her little white dress with sunflowers scattered on it, pulling at the pink tulle on the underside that always scratched her thighs until a small part of it ripped off. It’s then she wonders if judgement will be passed on how she had effectively lied to her mother about a stray dog being the cause of the damage and how black that might make her soul.

 

But then her whole body starts to ache. As far as she can tell, from all those books about near-death experiences her new age sister has read to her over the phone, you are not really supposed to ache when you’re dead. Your spirit is supposed to be free of pain and you are supposed to be able to sit up without wanting to scream bloody murder. Right now even curling her toes up is proving to be a borderline excruciating process.

 

She doesn’t even realize she’s screaming until the eyes of the figure above her flash with panic and he clamps his hand over her mouth. It’s physical. Real. Certainly not the bony protrusion of a hand she expected from the Grim Reaper.

 

So she’s not dead and instead, an insane man has broken into her hospital room for reasons unknown and is now essentially holding her hostage. She should have listened to her roommate Samantha and just never gone back home. It feels almost poetic though, that she will escape the car accident and be murdered for kicks in the place that is supposed to be her home of healing.

 

The weight in her arm lets Betty know that it’s broken, probably in more places than one. Her breathing is labored even through her nose and every sip of air burns as it shallowly fills her lungs. She’s impossibly weak and even if she wanted to try and fight him, she knows she would not, could not, win.

 

She closes her eyes tight to prepare for whatever it is he’s going to do. If she is going to die right here she would very much not like to look into his eyes as it happens. In theory, she gets how haunting that could be to someone committing a murder, but she doesn't want her last memory to be of him. Nothing comes though, except the retraction of his hand and a small gust of air that sounds a lot like a sigh. Betty flutters his eyes open again, and is surprised to find that blackness in his eyes is gone now, replaced with a blue so alluring if she wasn’t currently fearful for her life, she might find it beautiful.

 

“Who are you?” She tries to choke out, but it’s stilted and quiet.

 

The man above her understands and lands in the chair beside her with a boyish grin. “Complicated question. But my name is Jughead Jones the third.”

 

“Are you Death?”

 

That stalls him for a minute, frowning as he contemplates her question. “No. No, not really. I mean I guess kind of. Death isn’t really a singular identity as opposed to a bunch of different components working together. I’m a Reaper, but there are lots of us. Some are from Hell but there’s also a good chunk outsourced from Heaven because they don’t always trust us to play cleanly when it comes to soul collection.”

 

“I’m sorry, what—?” she tries to say more but everything that comes out after that is a cough that hurts so bad she feels like she might throw up. She can feel the contraction of her chest and the pain that radiates starting at her core and shuddering out through her ribs.

 

“Hey. Hey, relax. Humans are fragile and you’re going to heal quickly, but not that quick, Eve hasn’t really gotten a chance to situate herself. And it’s probably going to get worse before it gets better. I think. I’m not exactly sure how this works with humans, but that’s my best guess.”

 

Panic seats itself firmly in her soul with every cryptic description he gives of the situation she finds herself in. He isn’t making any sense and she think that might be a purposeful decision on his part. But in this moment she needs answers so she swallows down the pain and manages to grit out, “How who works with, what?”

 

But then her vision goes black and she’s completely encompassed in an outshoot of agony. It starts like a coil in her stomach like something is burrowing deep within her soul, ripping apart her DNA and rewriting it line by line. She screams in pain again as the world fades out around her in a blinding flash of white. Her body tries to protect her from the brunt of it, shutting off her brain and forcing her to sleep, but every breath is punctuated with a searing burn, like a heated poker dragging across her skin. In the midst of it all she can hear people talking, fading in and out of her reality as they stick her with needles and try to ease whatever hurts most. Someone tries to hold down her flailing body and the screams are coming out muffled and gagged. Slowly, it starts to subside and the pain is replaced by a radiating tingle, like the kind she feels when her leg falls asleep and she tries to move it.

 

The first time she opens her eyes things hurt a little less. There’s a dull ache now in her arm and she can see a morphine drip supplying relief.

 

She looks around the room and the mysterious figure is gone. Instead, she sees Archie, ginger hair sticking up in every direction, snoring lightly, having contorted his body to fit slumped over in a one of the plastic hospital chairs. Beside her is tucked her favorite stuffed bear, the one he won for her at a carnival when they were only nine. He had saved up for months to buy enough tickets to get himself the new game console he wanted, but he caught Betty crying behind the dunk tank booth because Reggie had called her a know-it-all in class again and got the whole room laughing before the teacher could calm them all down. Without thinking he went and set his quarters on the nearest booth stall. Maybe the man had felt bad for them, risking it all at a rigged game, because Archie only popped a single balloon and was still allowed to pick a prize from the top shelf.

 

That bear, Mister Wahlberg as they had taken to calling him, became a symbol of their friendship. When she realized she’d forgotten to pack him to bring to college with her, Betty had been nothing short of heartbroken, emotions flooding over until she cried at a gas station halfway into the city. But lots of things were happy accidents. They arranged a schedule like they had in elementary school. Archie could have him during the year, but Betty got him all holidays, no matter where she went. It was technically still his turn and yet here the bear was, tucked into her side under the scratchy hospital blankets.

 

Realization slowly dawned on her then that her very best friend in the world was no doubt blaming himself for what had happened. She had asked to borrow his truck for the day. Hers was still in the garage, the last of the pieces her dad and her needed to finish it set aside in boxes. She wondered how much help she’d really be in the restoration process with a broken arm. There were a few errands she needed to run in town, and her mother had asked her to pick up a prescription for her sister all the way out in Midville, so walking was not an option. He’d handed over the keys with nothing more than a promise of a platter of Betty’s famous chocolate chip cookies as payment.

 

Hopefully, she would have a chance to explain that away for him. It was her who had not seen the man speeding through the intersection, and the man who had not heeded the warning of the stop sign, crashing headlong into the truck and sending her sprawling into two other cars.

 

Her mom and the rest of the Coopers were nowhere to be seen. This didn’t surprise Betty all too much; Polly hated hospitals and being in one could set off the slightest trigger that pushed her towards that already fine line she teetered on. She had to trust they were around as much as they could be.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees it again, the figure that had loomed above her, leaning against the back corner wall of the room. Now that she has her wits about her she can properly look at him. Everything is so normal, so usual for someone her age. An oversized grey sweater hangs loosely over him and there’s a crown shaped cap on his head. She feels a strange sort of craving for him that she can’t quite place but at least he appears to be compelled by the same force as he takes a step out of the shadows towards her.

 

“You’re awake again. I think probably for longer this time. Eve seems happy, which is good because she’s not usually.”

 

“Who the hell is Eve?” Her words are coming easier now, and it doesn’t quite feel like there is a giant pound of bricks sitting on top of her chest anymore. “What are you? Where is this?”

 

He grins at her and shakes his head. “Those are a lot of questions. I’m not really sure I can answer all of them completely right now. I guess the easiest one is where you are, which is Riverdale General Hospital. Makes sense since you were in a car accident that was going to kill you.”

 

She remembers it, at least vaguely. The screech of tires, the screams of people, the deafening crunch of metal, and the hum of engines. There might have been a fire — she remembers an intense heat on her skin, so painful she had tried to move away from it — but most of that is gone from her mind. Probably for the best. A crash like that was going to lead to massive carnage and yet here she is, with a broken arm and a dull thudding ache throughout her body, but otherwise unharmed.

 

“But I’m not dead. Why?”

 

“More questions. It’s good you’re curious, I just don’t know how much I can tell you.” He seems to contemplate for a moment. “Usually the only people we really interact with are those making deals, or witches, so they already know about us. I guess the next question is what I am. In the simplest terms, I’m a demon, but that’s not exactly right either since I’m also a heavenly angel, by blood.”

 

Her blood chills and her breath hitches. A demon. Witches. It’s like a whole new world has opened up to her. The veil has lifted on all the creatures that went bump in the night. Conceptually, she had always been told that demons existed, that there were people out there that wanted you to stray from the light of religion and holiness but actual living real life demons was not anything that had been discussed in her mandated Sunday school classes. They always felt more like boogiemen hiding under the bed to get you to behave. With the vague explanation of what he is, there is only one thing that comes to mind.

 

“Are you the Devil?”

 

The man, Jughead, he said his name was, which is stupid enough for her to compartmentalize for now but will eventually have to be addressed, grins. His body shakes a little and she realizes he is silently laughing at her. She gives an indignant huff and is about to say something when he cuts her off. “No, but kind of yes. I’m not The Devil, that’s my dad, but also not exactly. The Devil you’re referring to, Lucifer, is my grandfather. He officially retired a long time ago, after the black plague, said it was too exhausting to have to schedule that much carnage. I’ve got at least a millenium to go before I take over. Right now, I’m still just a reaper.”

 

Her head starts to spin. He speaks with such a casualness that she’s compelled to believe him. He is here, and she is not dead, so that must mean there’s a little bit of truth in the tale he’s weaving for her.

 

“So that makes you, what, the Prince of Hell?”

 

“For all intents, purposes, and paperwork, yeah that’s me. I’m also half greed demon on my mom’s side of the family, but most of it is overpowered by the corrupted heavenly grace from my Dad.”

 

She conjures up a vision of demons and monsters and devils that she has always heard of. They’re dark and looming, almost always grotesquely contorted reflections of the pitfalls of humanity. But he does not have horns or a tail or claws to rip her heart out and devour it. He has sneakers that look a little worn down and longer nails than someone like Archie does. They’re taken care of in a way that surprises her and she briefly looks down at her own hands to see the manicure she paid a lot of money for shattered, pink polish scratched and faded, nails broken and dried blood clinging to her skin. She sighs and briefly wonders why she even bothered to get them done in the first place.

 

“You look normal. Do you have wings? Are they hidden?”

 

He seems half annoyed, half entertained by all her questions, as he perches himself at the foot of her bed. There’s an otherworldly beauty about him which must be because he’s a demon. She supposes it really wouldn’t make sense if they weren’t alluring in their own way. Who would want to take a deal with some half human with a gaping maw and talons?

 

“Yeah, they are. I can’t exactly go stomping around in my demon form. I have a human form I take when I go to Earth. I don’t have to wear it, but it’s more comfortable with it on up here and I spent years perfecting it so I’d blend in seamlessly. You’d be surprised how much practice it takes just to remember how many fingers and toes humans have. For ten years I was convinced it was four.”

 

She smiles at that despite herself. This is not the creature of terror she had always envisioned. He reminds her of the nervous graduate students she used to see running around and talking about their internships, desperate to please and running off of the final fumes of caffeine leftover from their quad espresso shots.

 

“It’s five.”

 

“Well, of course, I know that now.” She watches as he attempts to discreetly count his fingers and lets out a relieved sigh. “Your last question, what is Eve. I think that’s harder to answer because I’m not entirely sure either. Eve is a snake, she was a present to me, or I guess more of a required burden. I’m the son of The Devil, so I’m a high-class demon even if I’m at the bottom of the corporate totem pole. My sister and I had to complete this test to prove ourselves and long story short we each got saddled with one. Hers is Adam, mine is Eve, and they’re sort of power supplies but also living creatures. She helps me to feel my best.”

 

“So she’s like your emotional support snake?” It’s a strange comparison but it’s the only one Betty can really think of that makes sense in the moment.

 

He ponders this for a moment and nods. “Yeah. Like that. Not all demons have one, in fact, I think my sister and I are the only ones. We don’t even know what they are, no one does, but they’re special and important and she chose me as her home. Other demons who’ve tried, end up dead. Good news is, she likes you a lot. You were dying and so I made a call and bound you to me. Eve helped make it strong enough to keep you alive but to do that and heal you, you had to become her host. At least temporarily. I’m not sure how long it lasts. I sort of...well bonds aren’t strictly legal anymore. It’s like a normal deal contract but deals involve a lot more paperwork and for you to verbalize what you’re after. For a deal, I have to give you something you want and in return, I get your soul, or Hell does, in theory, but it's a lot more complicated and bureaucratic than that. A bond sort of cuts all that out. It’s a lot more binding than a contract and there isn't a single thing that I have to fulfill in order to break it. There’s more nuances in a bond that I don’t even fully understand myself. They became illegal before I was born and most people don’t offer up that information when you’re digging for it, trust me, I’ve tried.”

 

Betty tries to put all the pieces together, to follow what he’s saying in a way that makes sense. She chews on his words for a minute before daring to speak up again. “So you’re telling me you committed an illegal binding ceremony that you don’t really even know a lot about with your pet snake to save my life. Why?”

 

That seems to puzzle him too. He opens his mouth a few times but when no sound comes out, he closes it again, staring down at the polka dot pattern on her scrubs. “I don’t know. I felt like I had to. I read your background sheet and I guess part of me didn’t want to deal with sitting around arguing with Kevin about how pure your soul is or isn’t.” It’s a defensive technique, one she spots immediately. Half truth, half lie, because she uses it a lot herself. 

 

There are a lot of factors that are nearly overwhelming at this moment. She, Betty Cooper, is bound to a demon, but not just any demon. She is bound to the Prince of Hell himself and neither of them are fully aware of what that entails at the time being. There is some snake thing called Eve floating around in her body. She was scheduled to die and now will not because of his interference.

 

“Isn’t it bad that you didn’t take my soul? Isn’t that going to mess up the timeline or something?”

 

He shakes his head, that easy half smile back on his features. She hates how much she thinks it looks good on him. “No. Human life and fate are less rigid than people think they iare. Fate is an ever-changing phenomenon that shifts with the free will of humanity, demons, and angels. If you make a decision, fate describes there is an action that will follow, but it’s not something that necessarily has to happen. There are going to be consequences to you being alive, of course, but the reality where you died no longer exists, so it’s not important to think about. No one is ever going to know what could have been. Except for a few people in the Heaven department that make sure the strings of fate don’t get tangled too easily. I don’t envy them. I always thought that would be a boring job, sitting there pulling on strings to make sure they stay straight.”

 

“Right. Okay. So there’s no repercussions to this I should be aware of?”

 

“Um no, I didn’t say that. There are definitely going to be consequences but they probably aren’t going to be that bad for you. Worst case scenario they kill you and since you were already scheduled to die, it means you get a few more days, weeks, hours to do whatever it is you needed to do.”

 

It’s morbid but honestly, she understands what he’s saying. She looks at this as a blessing, closing her eyes and thanking whatever powers that might be listening.

 

“Don’t do that,” Jughead says harshly. He looks a little pale, almost sick. “It makes me sick. Literally, not figuratively.”

 

Betty raises an eyebrow curiously. “So demons do have weaknesses then?”

 

“Of course. If we were indestructible that would be unfair, don’t you think? For less powerful demons you might set them on fire with something like that, but it sort of just makes me queasy.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“None of your business.” He’s been good about answering her questions, but she knew that eventually there would be a roadblock that he would be unwilling to answer. It feels so strange to be talking casually with a demon. At any moment she thinks she’ll open her eyes and be back in her dorm room slumped over her criminology textbook preparing for her last final of her undergraduate career.

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

 

He snorts. “You did. That’s fine. I don’t really care either way. Just know that I’m not going to give you the secrets to making my life miserable. For starters, I’d prefer you didn’t, but also I have no idea what kind of negative side effects that could have for you. And neither do you.”

 

“Fair enough. So what is it you want from me. You’re a demon, so you have to want something. And even if you weren’t, nothing in life is free.” It’s a hard lesson she’s learned in her own time, despite how many years Alice Cooper spent drilling it into her mind. It was first learned when Chuck Clayton helped her pick up all her things from the ground after her bag ripped and she ended up having to mace him in the hallway when he got handsy.

 

“For all we know, you might have already given me plenty. I feel...strangely at ease when I’m with you like I am right now. So, for now, we’ll call it even.” Betty notices the clock on his wrist and the way it starts to screech with an unholy sound. He frowns at it and presses a few buttons. “I have to go make another stop. A reapers work is never done and apparently, there’s someone near Sweetwater river who may or may not make it out alive, so someone needs to be on standby. You’re breathing so I shouldn’t have to hang around anyway. The nurses are already talking about how miraculous it is you survived. If only they knew...”

 

He hops off the bed and gives her a salute. “Well, see you around, Elizabeth. Take good care of Eve for me. I’ll come by to visit again later.”

 

“What does Eve even look like?” She hisses, noticing Archie start to stir at all the commotion. “You’ve given me no information.”

 

“You’ll find out. She’s hard to miss. See you later.”

 

As he disappears into a cloud of smoke, she manages to choke out, “What the fuck is that cryptic statement supposed to mean?” He’s gone then and she’s mesmerized by the glowing white outline he leaves for just a moment.

 

Archie startles again, wiggling in his seat, his eyes fluttering open. Betty relaxes and tries to look as frail as someone who has barely just survived a car crash should feel. It’s surprising how alive her body is, like there’s a white-hot fire coursing through her veins and she has an energy she hasn’t felt in years. It’s almost like that time she drank two red bull in twenty minutes but less with the faint fear of death looming over her head. She feels  _ good _ .

 

“Hey, Arch.” She tightens her voice so she can strangle her throat and that’s all that’s needed. He’s sobbing as he holds her tightly and even though her arm feels okay the cast pressing against her ribs aches painfully. Betty pats his back and assures him softly that she is here, she is alive, and she hasn’t left him. Suddenly, she is far more grateful of the extra time this demon has given her.

 

Everything after that is a blur. There’s doctors and nurses checking on her every five minutes, whispering to each other and her mother over the phone how lucky she is to be alive, how statistically she’s healing much faster than the average person should. They wanted to keep her for observation for a week but with the rate she’s healing it may only take a few days.

 

She’s pushed through CAT scans and MRIs, medications pumped into her body so much it sort of makes her sick to her stomach. Polly doesn’t visit in person but she FaceTimes from her comfortable perch on her windowsill overlooking the trees of their backyard, holding up a blanket she’s been knitting for Betty when she gets home. Hal and Alice take turns yelling at doctors and demanding answers while Archie stays by her side so long she has to beg him to go take a shower because his stench kills her.

 

It’s the day after everything and it still sort of feels like a dream. The demon, Jughead, hasn’t come to visit her since the night before and she almost thinks it would be a dream if it weren’t for the strange longing in the pit of her stomach. But maybe longing isn’t the right word. It almost feels like a hunger, the kind that gnaws at her and makes her head spin. Luckily having difficulty focusing is a common side effect of a near death car crash.

 

Archie is sitting beside her, flipping through his phone and showing her apartments for rent in the area. They had decided to move into together, for some much-needed independence from both sides of the family, but that plan will have to wait for a few more weeks until Alice Cooper decides to let Betty out from under her hawk eye for long enough to actually look at local listings. When she was younger she used to dream about moving in with him. He would carry her over the threshold after their wedding and they would curl up on the couch together to watch old movies and plan their future, pressing chaste kissing to each other’s skin. Now she knows that Archie hates old movies, does that weird thing even as an adult where he blows air into the bottom of a fast food cup to make air bubbles, and literally is willing to wear the same t-shirt for four days in a row just to avoid doing laundry. Over the years her dreams of Archie the high school sweethearts have morphed into Archie the brother she never wanted but loves having.

 

“What about this one? Two bedrooms and it’s only like, 1500 a month. Is that good? I can’t tell.”

 

Betty snorts and nearly chokes on the red Jell-O she’s been provided to help keep her sugar levels up. “Sort of. A bit high given the property value of Riverdale. Most people don’t want to move here.”

 

“Not anymore,” Archie grimaces and taps his phone a few times to open up a news story. It’s from the Register, which really should not be a surprise. Even as Betty was laying nearly dead in the hospital her parents had the time to push out a story. The headline surprises her most of all.  _ Blossom Heir Cheryl Blossom Shoots Father in Self Defense After Finding Strangled Body of her Mother _ . It certainly isn’t classy but it’s an attention grabber to be sure. “Not a lot of details and neither Cheryl or Jason are talking right now, but it’s crazy, right?”

 

“Wait, what?” She remembers what Jughead had said, about having a busy night, and more bodies to find. Maybe she wasn’t the only person on his list that night. “Did they find anyone by the river?”

 

“That’s the crazy thing. They found Jason nearly drowning in the Sweetwater. He was bruised and bloody but he wouldn’t explain how he got there or why he looked like someone had been carving into his skin these weird ritualistic letters. He said they were self-inflicted but it looks bad. I’m just glad he’s okay. And so is his throwing arm so he’s not going to lose his scholarship.”

 

Leave it to Archie to think about someone’s future football career instead of whatever disaster is occurring at the Blossom mansion. She loves that naivety in him, that gentleness. Sometimes people can take it for granted but she’s always been his biggest champion when it comes to his gentleness, his pure heart. When they were children they used to joke that if he was a superhero, his name would be Pureheart the Powerful.

 

“That’s good to hear, Arch,” she smiles and finishes the sweet treat, frowning down at it, forlorn and wishing there was more. She’s been ravenous not just in longing for something unknown, but for food. Maybe when (if?) Jughead comes back she’ll be able to ask more questions about the side effects of being bound to a demon.

 

Looking at her best friend, guilt begins to well up in her chest, an uncomfortable tightness that she hasn’t felt since she lied to him about the whereabouts of his favorite G.I. Jonathan after her cat destroyed it. She has never really kept something of this magnitude from him before, but what would she even say to him about this? She doubts he would even believe her. Some moments she doesn’t even believe herself.

 

Archie is such a normal person with such a normal life. His parents divorced when he was in high school, but kept things amicable enough that they still often times have holidays together so Archie doesn’t have to split his time. He went to a local school for Bachelors of Arts in Music on a football scholarship. He’s had girlfriends he wanted to kiss but never marry and friends he wanted to drink with but never meet his family. He is almost enigmatic in his normalcy but it’s a presence that calms Betty and the whirlwind adventure her life seems determined to go on. He does not need to know about the demon that saved her life. The risk of exploding his brain is far too great.

 

The nurse comes in and asks her if she needs help with her bath. Betty shakes her head, a bit embarrassed, but gestures to the shower. “Would you mind helping me walk there, Arch?”

 

He’s up on his feet before she can even finish her question, muttering how of course he can, of course he will when she gets home, and promises that when they get their own place he’ll help out as much as he can there too. For someone who’s had a broken arm before he’s a bit clueless about how long she’ll be out for the count but it’s sweet of him to be as doting as he is.

 

Archie helps her wrap her cast in a plastic bag so it doesn’t get wet but leaves to offer her some privacy. She’s not sure how private it is when the door is cracked open and he’s sitting just outside it in case there’s an emergency.

 

“So how’s your girlfriend?” Betty asks in a desperate attempt to make enough small talk that this feels less awkward than it is. The hot water feels good on her back and works to ease some of the aches and kinks that haven’t quite worked their way out of her muscles yet.

 

“Oh, you mean Val? We broke up. We’re better off as friends, or at least that’s what she said. Apparently, I have a wandering eye and a musicians heart,” he mutters under his breath, “whatever that means.”

 

She laughs and pumps some of the soap from the bottle. It smells like hospital and cucumbers but it’s better than the stench of sweat and pain that seems to be radiating off of her at the current moment. “You’ve always been like that Archie. Maybe it’s a compliment.”

 

“Yeah, well, it really didn’t seem like one when she said it to me after throwing a drink on my face at a party.”

 

They move idly from one subject to the other, Betty hardly paying attention to anything other than the gentle splash of water on the hard tile floor and the softness of the loofa on her skin. She feels it subtly it at first, a dull tug at her stomach that slowly shifts into something strange, like a paintbrush being drug across her skin. In a panic, she looks down, afraid of what bodily horrors she might be about to witness.

 

There is a snake on her stomach. Not a real snake, not the kind that are green and soft and slither like the ones that scared her in her mother’s garden, but a thick black outline of one, almost like an animated tattoo. It moves across her without intention before curling up right above the little rod she has poking through her belly button — an act of rebellion that she got during spring break. Her eyes go wide and for a moment she is terrified. She hesitantly reaches out and touches the head of the snake.

 

“Eve?” she whispers so Archie outside cannot hear her.

 

No words come as a response, which really shouldn’t surprise Betty given she is talking to the physical embodiment of the bond she has to the literal Prince of Hell. Instead, she feels a heat radiate from her stomach, a comforting warmth that puts her at ease despite the strangeness of the situation.

 

“It’s good to meet you. Thank you for saving my life.” There’s another flash of warmth and without even asking, Betty knows whatever Eve is, she is pleased with her new host.  She finishes her shower more at ease with the comforting presence than terrified.

 

When she exits the shower, she sees Archie stare at her oddly. He points to her shoulder and Betty follows his gaze to see Eve has moved positions and coiled herself tightly around her arm, like a tattoo band. Luckily it seems he can’t see the little rattle of her tail.

 

“When did you get a tattoo?” he asks with a raised brow.

 

It’s a good question. She is not exactly the kind of person you look at and think tattoos. If anything, you think future PTA president. The lie that comes out of her mouth is not a particularly good one but she hopes Archie can believe it. “Early graduation present for myself. Keep it a secret from my mom right now though, okay? Please?”

 

He stares skeptically at her for a moment before finally giving a quick nod. “Okay. Sure. Whatever you want Betty. I’d rather not be around when she gets pissed off about it anyway.”

 

Relaxed, she curls back up into bed. The next day she’s allowed to leave and both her mother and her father come to help get her back. They sit her in bed almost immediately, despite her protests about feeling trapped. Polly is out of the house at some sort of meditation retreat and Betty knows better than to ask for clarification if neither of her parents are offering it willingly. Ever since Polly lost the twins, her sister has been far from okay, tethered in reality by very few things. The blanket she was knitting is sitting there in bed though and Betty curls up around it tightly.

 

“Do you need anything, dear? Tea? Milk?” It’s strange to see her mother the same kind of doting figure she used to be when she would get a cold in elementary school. Alice runs a hand through the tangled blonde hair. “Do you need me to braid this for you?”

 

“I’m okay right now, Mom, I promise. I’ll be okay. I think I’m just tired.” She’s been sleeping a lot more. Despite her spike in energy, all the healing her body has been doing is exhausting, especially at it’s accelerated speed. “Do you mind?”

 

“Not at all. Rest as long as you need. I’ll make sure to bring you up dinner tonight. They were feeding you garbage at the hospital and I won’t stand for it.”

 

Betty laughs. “Thanks. Has everything been okay?” She means to ask if Polly has been okay, but the sentence is hard to say and even harder to hear spoken out loud.

 

Alice catches her meaning though and nods. “She’s been fine. Your father and I have made sure she stays out of the house to keep herself busy. She’ll be back tonight and I know she’ll love to see you. Just be patient with her, alright? Things have been hard. You know that.”

 

“I know Mom. I know.” She gets a kiss to her forehead and is left to finally settle into blissful sleep.

 

It’s harder than she thought it would be to actually find it. Being inside her pastel room, the place she always called a prison, is strange. Even during holidays her family was always busy enough or adventuring out of town that the time she spent in here was minimal. There are posters on the wall from bands she hasn’t listened to in years and a glowing shadowbox of a ‘B’ that Polly helped her decorate. Her high school pom-poms are still hanging off her vanity. It’s strange, so strange to be in this world again, so far removed from the newspaper clippings she lined her college dorm with and the sorority letters she wore with pride.

 

When Betty finally closes her eyes she dreams of strange things. There’s a path before her with a fork in the road and Robert Frost's words echoed in her head with every step. Crows in her path start to speak words that blend together until she can hear what sounds like her family coming from their hollow black beaks. They’re warning her about something, reminding her of the Faustian contract she has entered into, whispering words that she knows but cannot string together in a coherent thought.

 

At the end of the wintery path, she sees a brilliant golden door, mechanisms whirling rapidly. It’s reminiscent of the old pocket watch Polly and her bought for Hal’s forty-fifth birthday. Someone is pounding at the door, screaming in agony. Every hit of fist makes the metal shake, both it stays steadfast and strong under its pressure. The creatures skin starts to crackle and from its back it sprouts two membranous wings that expand widely in the small path leading up to the door. The closer she gets, the better she can make out the pained creature’s words.

 

“Let me in! Let me in! Forsythia you can’t do this! I’m your brother! Open! OPEN!”

 

It’s voice distorts, cutting in and out like tuned radio waves. The voice on the other end of the door says something and she watches the body crumble to the ground, wings retreating until it appears human again. Her body thrums in pain with his. She stumbles to the ground in the forest and lets out a pained shout. Eve’s body is wrapping tighter and tighter around her; gone is the comforting thrum, replaced by a clawing desperation to help whatever that creature is. Betty wants to scream out but her voice fails her and nothing but quiet sobs overtake her body.

 

She wakes up in a cold sweat. The sun has set and she can tell by the dinner sitting on her nightstand that she has slept longer than intended. Everything in the room is dark aside from the lamp she forgot to turn off before she fell asleep, illuminating only a small portion of the space in a fluorescent yellow. Even without the light, she can see his outline, perched in her vanity chair. He looks more haggard than he did before.

 

“What happened?” It’s the first thing she says, compelled to by a strange voice whispering in her heart. There’s also desperation there. She doesn’t know what might happen to her if he were to be damaged or killed. “Are you hurt?”

 

“I can’t go back,” he says softly. She can tell by the crack in his voice that he’s upset, in pain, struggling for reasons she could not begin to fathom. “The door wouldn’t open. None of them would.”

 

Betty remembers the figure from her dream, how familiar he had felt, the hopelessness with which he clawed at that golden door. She decides not to tell him about this, not yet. Not unless it seems relevant. “The door to where?”

 

“The underworld. Hell. My home. Call it what you want, I can’t go back. I can’t contact my father and the one person I can always talk to isn’t answering anymore. I’m completely shut out and I don’t know what to do.”

 

She swallows the lump in her throat, sitting up with a wince. There is so much pain in his eyes. “So what does it mean?”

 

“It means I can’t leave Earth Betty, I’m trapped.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @tory-b for the daily ramblings of an insane girl. If you're so inclined to leave a comment I would be eternally grateful but I also always love if you ever wanna come yell at me on tumblr about what you like, what you didn't like, or theories!


	3. The Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing response I've gotten to this fic. I cannot BELIEVE it. You guys are amazing and I'm so thrilled. I've had probably the worst day ever today so I'm so glad to be able to make it a little better and send thsi chapter your guys' way. I hope you enjoy it <3 <3 We're expanding more upon universe and suddenly this chapter was 9k! OOPS! Well, hope you enjoy. 
> 
> As always, the loudest thank you to @miss-eee

_ It was never supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be a normal day—a normal day as a reaper, where he would finish his list early and walk around the mortal realm enjoying the little pleasures of greasy diner food and the symphony of sounds ever-present inside of Fox Forest. It was supposed to be a snap decision that, while reckless, was never supposed to mean anything in the long run. And now it’s gone and changed his whole life. _

 

_ After making sure Betty was at least still alive, still breathing, and Eve had made herself comfortable in the new host, he had gone to the river to wait. Jason Blossom’s fate was changing every minute. The clock on his wrist whirled frantically, backwards and forwards, frantic in its confusion, an incessant beeping and popping and clicking creating a cacophony of noise in the normally so peaceful wilderness. He was irritated, tired, contemplating just pushing Jason into the river and drowning him himself if it weren’t for how thoroughly illegal that was in the underworld. Today had already been a day of tempting fate, and he didn’t dare defy his father’s rules twice in such close proximity. It had been hours of sitting on the only smooth rock at Sweetwater, watching Jason toe at the edge of the water. _

 

_ Finally, the boy began stripping, losing away all of his earthly possessions before he plunged himself into the shivering depths below. Jughead was surprised to see his back bloody with strange symbols carved into the thick skin of his back. Red still oozed from the sounds, dripping down, spilling along the freckles to create grotesque patterns. If he squinted, Jughead could just barely make out the symbols. They were ancient, definitely older than him, but he recognized them none the less from books he’d stolen from his father’s library when he wasn’t looking. There were three of them, etched so deep these marks would stay with Jason until his death, perhaps even longer depending on if they had made through human means or the darker magicks the Blossoms had been known to use. _

 

**_Sacrifice._ **

 

**_Bound._ **

 

_ But the final one, a long thin line with three deep circles on either side, tugged with familiarity at the edge of his brain, hollow echoes of the past. If Eve had still been with him, he could have asked for her guidance, but she was working her magic on the fractured woman he had given her to. The human he’d bound to his immortal soul. It was strange how empty he felt without Eve’s warmth wrapped tightly around him--her ever comforting presence. He missed her and, by extension, he missed Betty too. _

 

_ Jason teetered on the river’s edge again and Jughead watched as he finally threw himself into the icy waters. He lingered near the riverbank, counting down the seconds on his clock until either hypothermia consumed him or the poor man’s lungs gave out. Just as he was about to uncork the same kind of vile he had used to collect the other soul’s from tonight's harvest and leave Cheryl the only surviving member of the Blossom clan, he noticed a blur of red streak through the forest. He watched her unnatural speed and with every step forward he could smell the stench of magic radiating off of her skin. It wasn’t a surprise to learn that even the young twins dabbled in witchcraft. Their whole family had encountered too many demons for it to be pure coincidence. Leave it to magic to ruin his night. _

 

_ As Cheryl pulled her brother from the chilling embrace of death, her hands began to glow as a soft orange warmth was brought from her heart to Jason’s chest. He couldn’t make out the words she was chanting, or the foreign tongue they were in, until he heard her begin to beg, “Jay Jay, you can’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” _

 

_ With little fanfare, the watch stopped, and Jason’s name disappeared from the list. Jughead sighed, putting the empty bottle back into his bag to sit beside Penelope and Clifford’s inky black hearts. Evil radiated off the contents and he quickly snapped his bag shut. He couldn’t wait to be home and throw these souls into the well with the rest of the recycled, so he could finally be done with them and this whole sordid night. _

 

_ Before he could return to the Underworld and determine how he had mixed himself up with this binding, he needed to complete his reaper shift. Hopefully, he would be able to find a few scriptures about the forbidden rituals and extract some information without making all of hell privy to his illegal doings on Earth.  _

 

_ He moved swiftly through the forest to where he knew the portal was. Demons didn’t have free access to the pathways to the underground, even when they were the crowned prince of hell. There were different avenues that different demons had to take, another compromise made with Heaven, to keep those living in the Underworld from running rampant on Earth. At the opening of each path would be a sorry low-level demon stuck doing accounting work, stamping passports and marking numbers. Reaper pathways were allowed more liberal usage due to the unpredictability of human life but other passages had a limited number per hour. At first, this had drastically increased the demon turnaround thanks to a few heated wrath demons ripping of heads of Gatekeepers before they were officially sanctioned to kill upon attack.  _

 

_ But it wasn’t just Hell that had to obey these new laws. The same accommodations were made from Heaven, so that there would be a balance in the world. For every demon allowed through there was an angel, so that humans were capable of making their own choices, for better or for ill. The only exceptions -- aside from Reapers -- were when someone had called upon a spirit for assistance, either through prayer of ritual. That allowed a single use portal to open up and it was often first come, first serve in spots like that. Hungry lower level demons clambering and killing to get their way through the gates went ignored. It was still Hell after all. Sometimes Jughead wondered if angels decided who got to answer prayers based on a rousing game of tic-tac-toe or rock, paper, scissors. _

 

_ The Reaper portal open this time of night was tucked between a large thicket of brush and trees. He shivered once, allowing a subtle shift of his human form so his talons could extend, cutting through the thick bark easily so he could carve the symbol he needed to allow his passage. When the path opened he breathed a sigh of relief and took a step forward.  _

 

_ But there was no comforting embrace of fire and brimstone to catch him now, no frustrated clerk to stamp his pass and send him on his way. He stepped right through it, falling on the other side and into a small gathering of wildflowers. Sometimes there were errors. Frustrating, but not completely unheard of. So he tried again. _

 

_ And again. _

 

_ And again. _

 

_ Nothing. Panic set into his veins as he frantically tried to explain what could have possibly gone wrong. He ran to another Reaper portal and tried again but with the same results. He spent the better part of the night into the day chasing openings and trying to get through with, with even worse luck than the first time. _

 

_ Desperate and scared, he did the only other thing he could think to do. He called his sister. _

 

_ Summoning a portal to the Clockmaker's workshop was no easy task. She was particular and prickly when it came to her company, only a few held the key that would unlock it, and even then it was never a guarantee she would open the door. But Jellybean had never turned him down. She had never sent him away even when she was busy, frustrated with her work as she sat hunched, toiled over all tiny mechanisms both Heaven and Hell used to keep their worlds running. _

 

_ At the end of a long-abandoned road, Jughead fiddled with his watch until, finally, the golden door he knew so well appeared before him. He knocked twice before saying, “JB. It’s me. It’s Jughead, open up. I can’t get the Reaper portals to work and I have souls I need to drop off.” _

 

_ A small box appeared before him, gold like everything else, bouncing before him as a clear indication he should drop his contents off here. It startled him so much he pushed it away. “JB. Hello? You know I hate when you have your little creatures come at me. Open up so I can take the shortcut home.” _

 

_ When no reply came, he grew frantic, pounding on the door again. He could feel his body shifting, oh so carefully crafted facade fading as fear grew more powerful in his chest.  _

 

_ “This isn’t funny,” he swallowed thick. “I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me! “Let me in! Let me in! Forsythia you can’t do this! I’m your brother! Open! OPEN!” _

 

_ He continued to beat against the thick metal until his hands were bloody and his body ached. He kept screaming out for her, cries slowly morphing into a begging that would have his mother bursting forth with anger of his weakness. There had never been a time he had felt this disconnected from her before, like he was free floating in a sea of blackness with no tether. They had always been able to feel each other so intensely, the Prince and Princess of the Devil himself, bound by blood, loyalty, Adam and Eve. Without Eve grounding them together he was empty, frightened like the same little boy who had stumbled into the chambers of the tortured and damned and been unable to close his eyes at night without visions of blood spilling out of open mouths.  _

 

_ Both his throat and hands were raw when he finally heard her speak choked sobs coming from the other side. “You can’t come home.” _

 

_ “No. No! You’re lying! You’re lying! Let me in! Forsythia. Jellybean, let me in!” _

_   
_ _ But nothing else came. No words. No sounds. Just the slow crumbling of the door until all he held in his hands was gold dust and the watch strapped so securely to his wrist stopped ticking. _

 

Jughead stands before Betty now, shaking, hands still bloody from his relentless assault on the Clockmaker’s door as she stares at him like a ghost. She must hate him, he decides, because it cannot possibly be easy for a mortal to comprehend these sort of things. She had taken it much in stride but even his own head aches sometimes from the complexities of the world beyond the earthly plane.

 

“You’re trapped on Earth,” she repeats again, like a broken record scratched at the one part of the song he hates. “Forever?”

 

“I don’t know how long. I don’t know anything. All I know is that I’m trapped and it probably has something to do with the binding I did on you.”

 

Her face falls and she stares at him with something akin to pity. It’s an emotion he’s never had turned on him before, so he’s nearly startled by the softness in her brilliant green eyes and the way she reaches out to put her good hand on his shoulder.

 

“Are you scared?”

 

Bile rises in his throat, thick and acidic as he swallows it down to keep from lashing out venomously at her. The demon in him begs to rise up and rip her throat out so he can take Eve back and go back home. Without her here there is no more binding -- and better, no proof that it occurred in the first place -- but he stays grounded in slivers of morality that others of his kind are not so unlucky to possess. 

 

“I have a plan,” he says softly, distracting her from her question as he shrugs his shoulders to release her grasp on his shoulder. “There’s a witch the town over in Greendale. I’ve made deals with her before, helped her out in binds, and she still owes me a favor I haven’t cashed in yet. We can go there and she can help me summon my father so I can get answers.”

 

“Well, why didn’t you just go? You didn’t have to come here and make sure it was okay with me first. I’m incredibly grateful for what you’ve given me, and I hope I don’t seem like I’m not, but you have to understand that I’m trying to understand a lot of information right now. I know I owe you something after you saving my life with a bond, but I don’t completely understand things right now.”

 

Jughead tries not to be too frustrated, tries to take a deep breath and count back the curl of his talons and the shiver under his kin as his wings fight to break through. “That’s why you’re coming with me. So we can figure it out with her. Sabrina’s family, the Spellmans, come from old magic. If anyone is going to have information about our binding it’s going to be her. Which will help both of us understand what’s happening. I’m sure you want that as much as I do.”

 

He watches her eyes drift somewhere, towards the curve of her arm. Eve is peeking out from underneath the cap sleeve of her pajamas watching him curiously from her perch. Suddenly, Betty’s arm lurches forward again, reaching up to cup his cheek.

 

They’re both startled by the movement and Betty’s gaze flickers away from his as her hand drops back down. “Eve wanted to comfort you. So I did the only thing I could think of. I’m sorry that was weird.”

 

“I think most things are weird. Or have been these last few days. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

When he smiles, she smiles back, nodding gently. “I guess they have been. Yes. Yes, I want to go with you to the Spellmans with you. But I can’t do it tonight. I can’t just up and leave while all of my family is thinking. They just thought I was dead, if I disappear on them they’ll never forgive me or feel okay again.”

 

Jughead frowns, trying to process what she has just said. Human families have always interacted in ways that befuddle him. Growing up, he and his sister had been constantly encouraged to explore the Underworld by themselves, protected by an invisible veil and the hope that everyone knew who they were. They would walk hand and hand through the most desolate of wastelands and take tours of the corporate floors, arguing about what kind of demons they would grow up to be. He had always known he’d be gluttony, but his sister often worried she would be envy like their mother. She had been, of course, and he wonders now if that was what lead to her first betrayal, nearly fifty years ago.

 

“Besides,” Betty continues, “Witches are humans right?”

 

“Yes. For all intents and purposes, they have human bodies and souls. They can die like any normal human can. They just have something in their blood that lets them harness magic. Either from an ancestor summoning a demon or having angelic blood somewhere in their lineage. A great, great, great, great grandpa being a Nephilim. Angels or demons breeding with humans is strictly forbidden now, but it doesn’t matter how far back it is, the gene can be awakened by something. People like the Spellmans claim that they know who the ancestor that gave them their magic was, but they’re secretive about it so we all assume they’re lying for reputation. It works. Most demons are scared shitless of them and don’t even try to make deals. They just give them whatever they want.”

 

She blinked up at him obviously digesting all the information he had given her. She flopped down on her bed with a sigh. “Gosh, there’s so much I don’t know. There’s so much everyone doesn’t know.”

 

“It’s better that way. If everyone believed in us or knew the inner workings of everything that goes on in both Heaven and Hell, we’d have an apocalypse on our hands. 

 

“So why do the Spellmans work with you, if other demons just give them everything they want? You make it seem like this Sabrina owes you something.”

 

Jughead laughs, remembering the first time he had ever met Sabrina, young, barely 11 and just coming into her powers, staring wide-eyed up at him like he hadn’t just appeared from nothingness at her calls. He’d plucked an apple from a tree that was too far out of reach for her and sat as he fed on her gluttony. After that, she’d always called on him for a favor, no one else. He never asked why.

 

“Loyalty, probably. I’ve never failed to deliver before.”

 

“Alright, so it’s settled. They’re humans, they need sleep, and so do I. I’ll go to bed and when I wake we can go to the Spellmans and get the information we want. Sound good?”

 

“What do I do when you’re asleep though?” He asks. Normally he’d be back home, drowning in forgotten tomes and a bag of french fries he had grabbed from Pop’s.

 

Betty blinks a few times, pulling her lip between her teeth as she thinks it over. It’s an innocent enough gesture, but he’s enthralled by the smallest movements, watches her bottom lip turn pink as the blood pools in the worried spot.

 

“I guess I don’t care what you do. You can sit here and face the wall for all I care? Do demons not sleep?”

 

“I mean, we don’t have to. Some of us like to. Especially sloth demons but it’s never been a necessity. Besides, I don’t have a bed anywhere.”

 

She’s growing exasperated. Her hands run through her hair, pulling rough on the braids. “I don’t know. I never thought I’d be spending my night babysitting the Prince of hell. You can sleep in the chair. Or the floor. Or the tub.”

 

“The  _ bathtub _ ? I’m not really that particular but isn’t that weird?”

 

“This whole last week has been crazy for me, so I’m not really sure what part you’re referring to. Please, can you just figure out a place to be so I can get some sleep?”

 

Despite how hushed their argument has been, Jughead can hear the shifting and stirring of someone just across the hall, the subtle squeak of the floorboards underneath heavy feet. Someone shuffles towards them. It doesn’t take his ears to catch the audible squeak of a door with rusted hinges. Betty’s eyes go wide in a panic.

 

“Elizabeth?” A woman’s voice asks softly, “Who are you talking to? It’s nearly midnight.”

 

“N-no one, Mom. Just, um, my laptop. I couldn’t sleep because of my arm so I started watching Netflix.”

 

“You are a terrible liar. I’m opening the door now.”

 

Jughead realizes, after a moment, that he could avoid this situation quite easily. That he could alleviate the panic that Betty is feeling -- and by extension, making him feel -- by fading himself invisible. This thought does not occur to him until after her mother has already opened the door and laid eyes on him, standing in the middle of her daughter’s bedroom wearing an old flannel and muddy boots that have long since stamped into the plush pink carpet tucked half under the bed. 

 

“And who the hell are you?”

 

It’s such a blunt question that he nearly starts laughing. He would have, had it not been for the narrowed gaze that Betty had fixed on him, comically cute in how hard she is trying to be threatening to someone who was raised by two powerful and ruthless demons.

 

“Jughead Jones,” he answers, ignoring the way Betty starts to vibrate by his side, ears red and obviously panicked. “Who are you?”

 

“Alice Cooper and this is  _ my  _ house you’re in. Not just my house, but my daughter’s room. My daughter, who was nearly killed. So tell me, why shouldn’t I just shout for my husband and let him grab the shotgun under our bed and have him aim right for you?”

 

He admires the strength of this woman, whom he assumes to be Betty’s mother, so much so that he doesn’t bother to explain what little damage a shotgun would do to him other than minor skin irritation. It would hurt him the same way a mosquito pricks them in the hot summer months. He opens his mouth to speak when Betty moves to cut him off.

 

“Mom, this is my boyfriend. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was coming, but when he found out what happened, he drove all the way out here to make sure I was okay. He didn’t stop until he got here but I didn’t want to turn him away so I told him to come up on the ladder so he could see me. I didn’t want to risk waking up you or dad or Polly.”

 

_ Lie.  _ He detects easily. He can smell it on her, the fear, the layers of deception. Her mother stares her down, their eyes locked in a battle for dominance. Just when he thought he would have to make Alice forget about everything and leave her dazed for the next three days, she backs down with a sigh.

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend. Your father is going to be furious. And your sister, heartbroken. Does Archibald know? He follows after you like a puppy sometimes I can’t help but think he’s just waiting for you to agree to go on a date with him.”

 

“No, Mom. I would never date Archie and you know that. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I’m really tired. Do you think Jughead could stay the night? He doesn’t have a hotel and he was really worried about me?”

 

There’s a strange jealousy brewing under his skin when they talk about this Archibald. It must be the redhead who’d been by her side at the hospital. He doesn’t like the thought he might be harboring affections for someone that belongs to him, for  _ his  _ bound human. Demons are known for their possessiveness and he is no exception, it boils under his skin, itches at his veins until he can’t help but throw an arm around her. The action surprises Betty but seems to settle some of whatever worries lurked underneath Alice’s calm facade.

 

“I don’t like it. And you absolutely will not tell your father I let him spend the night in your room. He’ll sneak out the window in the morning and knock on our door like a respectable young man and we’ll meet him that way, am I understood?”

 

Betty relaxes, moving out from underneath Jughead’s hold so she can hug her mother quickly. “Of course. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Yes, you will. Sleep tight dear. Oh, and Jughead, just so you are aware, the walls here are incredibly thin. I’ll know if you’re up to something.”

 

He’s not sure what she’s implying, so he nods along. “And that would be bad?” She doesn’t catch the question, confirming with a nod just how bad that would be, before sweeping out of the room.

 

“Oh thank God. We’ll have to figure out that lie later. But for now, I need to sleep, so just, figure something out to do. Please.” Betty crawls into bed. “You can even sleep over here if it’ll help. I’m tired and am going to rest now.”

 

There isn’t anymore arguing or even discussion, because the second her head hits the pillows, she is fast asleep again. He sits there awkwardly for a few moments, before sliding himself into the chair across from her. He spends some time exploring her room as he tries to understand the type of girl she is. There are picture hung up on most of the walls, trinkets and mementos tucked onto already cluttered shelf space or pinned onto walls, articles and awards framed or corked onto a board hanging above her vanity. Near the back of the room is a stack of boxes all hastily marked  _ college _ . In most of the pictures, she looks younger than she does not. This room is a relic, a carefully preserved time capsule of her youth. 

 

He’s most intrigued by a series of polaroid shops clipped onto mirror magnets. She’s young, but he can never really tell human age just by looking at them. He knows she’s at least a few years younger than she is now, because there’s still a roundness in her cheeks, and she’s sporting some type of blue and gold uniform that is currently tucked into her closet collecting dust next to plastic feather dusters. The three other people squeezed into the frame with her match, arms thrown around each other in front of a metal staircase. It’s dimly lit, but he can make out only one of the other people clearly. Cheryl Blossom, with her red hair and wicked grin. There are a few other photos of the two of them together, laughing, talking, maybe even teasing each other. There’s one where they’re sitting with their backs to the camera as the sun sets over a small beach, hands threaded together. It surprises him, this knowledge that Betty and Cheryl had been friends not that far into the past. He wonders how much she knows.

 

The pictures of her with Archie are almost as numerous. Tucked into a booth at Pops, after sports games, children making funny faces into cameras their parents hold too close. That jealousy rumbles in his chest again and he decides without really thinking that he won’t be very nice to Archie.

 

Boyfriend. Jughead ponders the word Betty used to describe him to her mother. He’s heard it before -- it’s hard not to understand some of mortal culture when he’s spent lots of his life watching them with wide-eyed curiosity. He knows that she’s portrayed them as lovers. It should scare him more than it does. In his hundreds of years alive he’s never once been with someone romantically.

 

That isn’t demon culture. His parents are married, bound together through unholy means that he is sure his father would love nothing more than to reverse where it altogether possible. But demons relationships are complex and when they mate, it’s permanent, for eternity, unless something should happen to their spouse. The rate of matricide is staggeringly high among demons because of this, though even there are laws in the Underworld that prohibit this sort of behavior.

 

Relationships between them are more open, more fluid. The term monogamy is somewhat laughable and never used in polite company. Both his mother and his father had concubines out of their marriage, and Gladys even had other children, though none of them legitimate. It seems silly to limit you and your partner when there is an eternity to explore, and, well, most demons use sex as a means to an end when collecting souls. That isn’t to mean that relationships aren’t worth anything. There’s power in marriage, literal and physical. Marrying above your rank makes for quicker expedition upwards in the corporate ladder and married demons are able to pull each other through portals and mix energy to ensure survival.

 

Neither him nor his sister has ever been particularly interested in finding a mate and neither of their parents pushed it on them. There are centuries, millennia, for them to figure things like that out. Ever since Forsythia had chosen a different path than the one they all expected, there had been more pressure on him, a higher expectation to learn everything his father had to teach because now he was the one that would be taking over the throne with FP decided to retire. Now that he wasn’t even allowed back in hell who knew how that was going to work out.

 

When Jughead has explored everything the little room had to offer, he makes himself comfortable in the chair she’d gestured to, closing his eyes and letting a blank emptiness consume him for hours, until he could feel slivers of sunlight licking at his skin. Betty stirs in her bed, rubbing her eyes as she sat up straight. Immediately she is startled by his presence, opening her mouth to scream, until the previous days events settle back into her mind.

 

“You need to leave,” she says, gesturing to her window. “Come back in two hours, knocking on my door like a normal person. After I introduce you to my family, because Mom is going to make me no matter what, then we can make up an excuse and go to Greendale.”

 

“So I have to pretend to be your boyfriend? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve never done something like that in my entire life. Out of all the human desires I’ve fulfilled, that was never one of them. I don’t exactly scream ‘take me home to meet your parents’ right now and I never have.”

 

Betty groans, picking up her pillow and throwing it over her face so she can let out a muffled scream, before sitting up again and tossing it towards him. “Just follow my lead. I’ve had boyfriends before and I know what my parents will like and what they won’t. And we’re going to be together for awhile probably so it’ll help if they don’t actively hate you, so I don’t have to listen to them tell me that at every family dinner. My sister might be back from her retreat this morning and if she is, please be gentle with her. She’s had a lot of problems and I don’t need a demon feeding off of them.”

 

“We don’t feed off of problems,” he clarifies almost offended by her assumption. “Most demons have specific jobs, but they all start off as a demon of a specific sin. It’s the actual sin, the feeling of that, acting out on it, that sort of thing that I guess you could say we feed off of, but I don’t really care for the term.”

 

“And what sin were you born from then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Gluttony.”

 

She regards him, surprised, studying his body with hesitation and unease. “I don’t believe it.”

 

“You’ve never seen me at Pop’s.”

 

A small grin flashes across her features, followed by the echo of a tight lipped giggle. It makes him smile too even as he’s all but pushed out of the window so she can prepare herself for the morning. He spends a few hours running around and enjoying the fresh air of the sleepy little town before he feels it’s time to go to her again. There’s an aching loneliness in his heart that nearly makes him sick, but the nausea subsides as he steps onto the Cooper front porch and knocks twice.

 

It’s a little quiet house in a little quiet town, with a little white mailbox and a tall white picket fence. There’s a seasonal wreath hanging from a hook and a welcome mat under his feet. The only thing really that abnormal about it is the bright red door.

 

“Jughead,” Betty sounds relieved when she opens the door, but there’s a tightness in her smile, an edge in her voice that has his whole body standing on high alert. “You’re here. I knew you’d come.”

 

At first, he’s confused by her throwing her arms around him -- or rather the one good arm that isn’t tucked inside of a cast currently, even though he knows underneath there it’s good and healed thanks to Eve’s magic. But then he remembers that she had asked him to play along, She’s throwing him hardballs and he better hit it out of the park. So he wraps his arms around her tightly, burying his head in the crook of her neck as he mutters, “You’re safe. God, I was so worried about you.”

 

“Betty? What’s the meaning of this?” he hears a man ask. This must be her father.

 

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Jughead Jones. He drove all night to get here so he could see me and make sure I was okay.” 

 

It’s obvious she’s promoting this as a good quality of his - loyalty and dedication. He idly wonders if it would help to mention that he is literally the reason her heart is still beating and Hal can stand there confused by the strange man in his home. Jughead’s hands stay close to Betty’s, holding her tightly to him. It’s what he’s seen in all his favorite human movies. Normally, the man is more of a stud, and there’s low jazz music playing in the background, but he’s sure touching is the right way to go. She doesn’t push him back and that’s all the confirmation he needs.

 

“You have a boyfriend? Since when? When were you planning on telling your mother and I about him?”

 

Alice clucks in the background, banging around a few pots and pans, “Yes, Elizabeth, when exactly were you planning on sharing this news?”

 

“Soon! I was going to tell you guys about him soon. It’s um, well it’s new. We met at work actually. He was dropping something off for that editor I worked with. It’s been maybe two months but I didn’t know if it was worth mentioning since I was moving back to Riverdale. We didn’t know if we were going to stay together or not. But when he found out what happened, he promised he’d come take care of me. I told him he didn’t have to.”

 

“That’s an incredibly sweet story,” Alice doesn’t seem entirely convinced by their intricate weaving of lies. She’s like a bloodhound, trying to sniff out the slightest inconsistency. “And what exactly were you doing at an editor’s office, Jughead?”

 

Betty opens her mouth to answer for him but doesn’t get the chance. “My dad is the CEO of a company that works with the agency to handle a few of the more private matters. Sorry if I’m being vague it’s just business I’m not really allowed to discuss too much. I just go where he asks and drop of paperfs he needs me to.”

 

He’s thankful for how gullible humans are, how open to suggestion and easily exploitable their desires are. He can feel that Alice wants nothing more than for her daughter to be taken care of and there really isn’t much lying in his statement. Hal is trickier to read. There’s a creeping darkness that lurks in the depths of his heart that call to Jughead in ways that are hard to explain. But there’s a lock there, careful placement and a purposeful war waged in his soul to keep it at bay. He admires the man’s strength and the goodness he can feel there even as he wonders what color Hal Cooper’s soul might be.

 

He holds out his hand for Jughead to shake, which he does despite how awkward it feels. “It’s good to meet you, I guess. My daughter is special.”

 

“Honestly sir, you have no idea how true that is.”

 

“Well, I wish you had warned us he’d be coming here this morning. We didn’t make enough breakfast,” Hal’s voice is clipped, suspicious, but he hasn’t outright thrown Jughead out of his home which is good news.

 

“I made extra.” Alice produces a place of eggs and bacon from the oven and sets it down. “Eat.”

 

It’s a command he doesn’t need to hear more than once. Immediately Jughead is in the seat, devouring her food quickly. It’s good and not poisoned despite how worried he can feel Betty is about it. She lingers close by, answering questions her parents have about the two of them. Occasionally he chimes in to make sure the story is more believable and one that he might actually remember. 

 

“How long are you here for, Jughead?” Hal asks as he cuts through a slice of bread. The action is supposed to feel threatening but Jug just bites back a laugh.

 

“Indefinitely. I can work remotely and I want to be near Betty.” More have to, but the details are unimportant.

 

“How does Archie feel about this? He was always so protective of you in high school. I thought it was jealousy.”

 

Betty looks pointedly at her mother. “He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him or really anyone else yet. You’re the only people from home that know about Jughead.”

 

“Does it upset you that she’s been keeping you a secret?” Alice is purposefully pushing buttons, testing the waters and their relationship. “Like she’s ashamed of you.”

 

“ _ Mom _ stop it.”

 

Jughead shakes his head. “Not at all. My parents don’t know either.”

 

“Oh? Interesting.”

 

She wants to say more. She probably always wants to say more. Jughead wonders if there isn’t a pride demon close by that hangs around in the shadows just to feed off of her. Then again, anyone but him might feel sick just to be in their house. There’s a few crosses affixed on the walls and even sage incense burning over the fireplace (which doesn't do more than make his nose itch a little, but it’s irritating).

 

“Betty?” The voice on the stairs is quiet, soft and unsure. Another blonde emerges from upstairs. Her hair is shorter and there’s a headband tied like a bow on the top of her head. She’s wearing a nightgown that doesn't quite hit her ankles, but the robe over her shoulders nearly swallows her up.

 

He feels sick the moment he sees her, a twist and yank at the unnatural emptiness he can feel in her heart. It beats the same as any human but there’s nothing that calls out to him. No deep seeded desires, no closeted hopes, nothing but the steady echo of despair that once was so strong he can still taste the lingering residue of it. He’s never come across this before; has never met a human that  _ scares  _ him like this girl does. He wants to leave. He wants to grab Betty and run.

 

Before he can, she’s up and runs straight to the woman on the stairs to wrap in her in a tight embrace. “Polly! How are you feeling?”

 

“I should ask you that?” she smiles but there’s nothing there, not really. “You were in a car accident.”

 

“I’m okay. Thank you for the blanket. It helped the recovery, made me feel better. God, I missed you, Pol. You stopped calling as much. Sometimes a girl needs her big sister.”

 

Polly chuckles and there’s a familiarity that vibrates when she holds Betty tight. Jughead wants to claw out of his skin. He can feel his nails threatening to curl through his palms as he bites back the fear response. 

 

“Sometimes a girl needs her little sister too.” She looks up for the first time since she’s come down the stairs, letting out a surprised sound. “And who are you?”

 

“This is Jughead, my boyfriend,” Betty explains again sounding exhausted by her own lies. “I’ll tell you all about it later. I’m just glad that you’re here.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you Jughead. I’m Polly. I hope my parents haven’t been too hard on you.”

 

He can feel how happy Betty is to be here with her sister, to be holding her hand and talking with her, so he vows to keep the strangeness to himself for the time being until he can further understand what might be happening. There are spikes of genuine emotion from her. When the two hold each other close he knows that Polly is happy, at ease, and genuinely relieved that her sister is alive and safe, but none of these emotions vibrant with the same kind of brilliant heat that most humans have. They’re weak.

 

Swallowing down the bile, he nods. “You too. Betty, we should get going soon.”

 

“I’m sorry. Where on Earth do you think you’re going? You’re still hurt. You shouldn’t be leaving the house in your state!” Alice argues.

 

“I’m fine, Mom, really. Sitting cramped at home won’t help anything. And I’m not going far. Just showing Jughead a few hotels in town so he can book a room. Nothing too weird about that, right?” The question isn’t really for them; it’s more an act of self-assurance as she fumbles through the complex web of lies they are no doubt going to get painfully tangled in.

 

Alice obviously wants to argue more, but Polly puts a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder and smiles. “You should let them go. You were going to help me organize my room today, remember? You and Dad both. Maybe we can surprise Betty by having a few of her college things put away too.”

 

“She’s right, Alice. Betty’s an adult and she can do what she likes. Besides, I trust them both to behave themselves while she’s healing.”

 

Flushing a fluorescent shade of red, Betty quickly runs to the door, dragging Jughead behind her. She grabs her purse off the hook and slides open the door for them to escape. “Thanks for breakfast! I’ll be back home before dark. And if I’m not, I’ll let you know!”

 

As they practically sprint down the street Jughead can hear Alice shout, “And how are you going to get there! Betty! Betty come back here!” But they’re long gone and he doubts she’s willing to chase them.

 

Running turns to a lazy gait as they walk through the suburban streets of one of Riverdale’s upper-middle class neighborhoods. They’re roads that Jughead knows well from work but has always wished he’d had more time to look at them. So much of this place reminds him of his favorite black and white films. The simpleness of suburbia is strangely beautiful.

 

The Underworld is different. High rises, cluttered streets, homes that are empty and occupied all at once. It’s always too hot to feel comfortable unless you’re inside and no one sits on park benches just to enjoy the day. Any enjoyment comes from visiting Earth. Even his home, the largest building made of pieces and parts, has never been a place of comfort. It exists because it has to, because there needs to be a place for him to put all the things he’s stolen from Earth for his collection. There were awkward family dinners over food they didn’t technically have to eat. It was a place to be when there were no other places to be.

 

“My sister’s sick,” Betty says without prompting, almost as if she feels she has to explain the situation or fill the dead air. “She lost her babies and she hasn’t been the same since.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear it.” And he is. Human hardship might be what breeds the necessity of sin, but the loss of life -- even as a Reaper -- is something that sits uncomfortably on his heart, a heavy-weight he doesn’t enjoy to carry.

 

She doesn’t say anything else for a few more seconds until the silence once again pushes her to speak. She’s nervous. Anxious. And he can’t blame her. She’s walking side by side with the Prince of Hell as he leads her to a witches home. He’d call her stupid if she wasn’t a little scared. “What are you carrying?”

 

“Souls,” he says, tightening the hold on his messenger bag. “The ones I collected the night I met you. I’m supposed to go deposit them in the Underworld, so they can be weighed and processed, but since I can’t currently get there, it’s a moot point. I wish I wasn’t though.”

 

“Souls? You’re just carrying Penelope and Clifford’s souls in your bag?” It’s like she wants to feel disgusted, but a larger part of her grips tight to curiosity. “Can I see them?”

 

“No. I’ve been told that mortals being confronted with the tangibility of their souls can be troubling. A few have been known to go insane. You ever read Edgar Allen Poe?”

 

Betty gasps, eyes wide. “No! Oh my God, I wonder how much of the world has been influenced by things I didn’t even know existed until now. Are all lawyers actually vampires? Do politicians make deals with demons to secure their seats? Did I go to school with any witches?”

 

“Vampires aren’t real, sometimes that happens, and yes, but there’s only one witch family in Riverdale as far as I’m aware of. At least that have any practicing descendants.”

 

“Who?”

 

There’s a compulsion to answer her question, like a thin thread is pulled right from his heart and jerking him forward, and it spills out. “The Blossoms.”

 

“Oh.” She thinks for a minute and pauses to look at the sky. “I should have known when she was diving off the pyramid with no one to catch her during cheer practice.”

 

“I honestly have no idea what you just said. It made absolutely no sense to me.”

 

Betty laughs, waving him off. “Forget about it. It’s just a lot to process right now - all this everything. Speaking of witches, how are we getting to yours. Eve is helping me feel great, but I don’t think I’ll ever be up to walking all the way to Riverdale. I don’t have a car and you don’t exactly look like you drive anywhere.”

 

“Easy. We aren’t walking. Come here.” He pulls her tight to his chest. She makes a surprised noise and starts to pull back, but before she can argue or ask too many questions, he steps them back so they can both fade into the shadows of a nearby shop. All his thoughts are channeled into one place, straight to the Spellman Mortuary and then looming weeping willow in the front yard.

 

He doesn't even realize Betty is screaming until they’ve become corporeal again and she’s throwing herself backward into the tree, clutching her heart. She spins to him, eyes wide and furious. The punch she lands on his shoulder actually stings.

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

“Shadow travel. It’s quick and efficient. It’s how we all do it. It can’t have been that bad?”

 

“I want to vomit.”

 

“Okay so maybe it was that bad.”

 

Before she can argue -- or fit him with another glare that rattles him straight to his core -- Jughead hears someone else shouting his name. He looks to the right and sees Sabrina sitting on the front porch with a porcelain mug in her hands.

 

“Go away!” she’s saying, waving him off with a broom. “Shoo! No one summoned you.”

 

“Are you sure she’s willing to help us?” Betty asks with a raised brow, gesturing to the insistent way she’s hollering.

 

“Eh, she’s always like that, just ignore it. The Spellmans have a flair for the dramatics. She’ll help. Even if she didn’t want to, she has to. It’s part of our contract and she knows that. It just makes her feel better to argue.”

 

Betty still seems apprehensive, but he’s already taken her hand and walked with her towards the house. When they get to the front steps Sabrina is already standing there waiting for him, broom put away, arms crossed in defiance as she stands between him and the door to her home.

 

“Can I help you with something?”

 

“I’m calling in my favor. I need your help.”

 

Almost immediately she turns her gaze on Betty looking between the two of them with a frown.  “Are you here against your will? Because I have a nifty spell that’ll banish him back about fifty feet and then all I have to do is close the salt circle on the premise and  _ boom _ he can’t get out.”

 

“N-no,” Betty shakes her head. “No, I’m here because I want to be. He saved my life.”

 

“Aw, so you got trapped into a demon debt. I admit I didn’t think you dealt in extending life. I thought that was illegal in your line of work, since Reapers are supposed to reap.”

 

“Well, I certainly did something illegal. And a lot worse than just wish fulfillment to live another two minutes.” Without warning he grabs hold of the sleeve on Betty’s shirt, pulling it up to expose the bind of Eve wrapped around her forearm.

 

The cup in Sabrina’s hand clatters to the ground, porcelain shattering across the floor as she whispers, “Holy shit, Jughead what the hell did you do? And you brought it here? Are you insane?”

 

“I didn’t have a choice, Sabrina. I didn’t realize the binding would do this. I was going to go back home and figure things out, lay low, but when I tried to pass through the barrier, it wouldn’t let me through. I came here to see if you knew anything about binding and why this might be happening.”

 

“You bound her? That highly illegal thing that your dad has beheaded people for in the past? That sort of binding?”

 

Betty looks sick to her stomach and Jughead can feel her panic. “Yes. Sabrina, if you could just shut up and help that would you be great. Remember, you owe me after last time, and I’m here to collect.”

 

“Jeez, Rumplestiltskin fine. Let me go grab my first born child.” There’s a panic in her voice too, hidden amongst her sarcasm, but he knows the news of a binding has shaken her too. She gestures for them to sit down before quickly running off. When she returns, she’s holding three old tomes.

 

They’re covered in dust and written in a language he doesn’t understand. When she opens them up his vision crosses. A spell, magic done to ensure that only those in the Spellman bloodline can read the contents. It’s clever, frustratingly slow, when all he wants to do is grab the book and start flipping under her understands more.

 

“Ah ha! Binding. I found it. There’s not a lot written here. It describes it as a more intense version of a contract, where the demon doesn’t have a specific obligation to fill and neither does the human. It’s permanent, can’t be undone, blah blah blah, things we already know. Some of the known side effects for demons include the inability to lie to the human they’ve bound with, a compulsion to obey commands, which makes sense given that’s sort of what the binding is all about. Sort of like when parasite on a whale.”

 

“Sabrina. Not helping. Please.”

 

“Right, sorry.” she flips forward a few pages, skimming through the contents until she finds what she’s looking for. “So it also says a little bit about mind-reading, but that happens only in rare cases. I’m sure you’d know by now. The interesting part is the effects this has on the human. If the demon dies, so does the human, but the human gains the healing and strength of the demon. She can’t die unless you do and she’ll be able to regenerate quickly.”

 

“We knew that,” Betty chimes in. “Because when we bound I was almost dead and now all my bones are healed and I feel better than I did even before I got hit with the car.”

 

Sabrina holds up her hand, “That’s not all. It also warns that if the demon is injured in any way, it will be reflected on the human. So if Jughead ends up with a papercut, you’ll have it too, for the few microseconds until it heals, which is good news in that he doesn’t get hurt much but bad news with the other implications. You also aren’t able to be bound by anyone until your bind with Betty is severed. Which is also good news given demons don’t usually willingly enter into a binding anymore.”

 

“You can force someone to bind?” Betty’s eyes go wide as she soaks in the complexities of the world. It’s nearly cute how eager she is.

 

“Yeah,” Jughead explains, “You can. We try to deal in contracts and for the most part those works. Most humans don’t know about bindings. It’s the witches you have to watch out for because forcefully binding takes a lot of power and a lot of work for it to function properly and not kill you or the demon. Normally both parties have to agree.”

 

“But I didn’t. You never asked and I never answered. I’m not mad you did but that doesn’t make sense.”

 

“It’s a little bit different with Eve. She’s....well no one really knows what she is but she acts as an override button for a lot of things. Besides that, you were technically dead, making things more lax. Human survival. You were given a chance to live, and it’s not common for a body to reject that.”

 

“Huh. You’re special, aren’t you?” Betty reaches to where Eve now is, head resting on her open palm, and brushes her fingers over the intricate scaling. She smiles. “She feels warm.”

 

“That means yes. At least I think it means yes. If it doesn’t mean yes, her and I have a lot of problems.”

 

Sabrina snaps the book shut, looking frustrated. “None of this explains why you wouldn’t be able to get back to the Underworld though. I didn’t read anything about it limiting your ability to return home. Sure you’re not supposed to be too far away from the person you’ve bound with for long, but a quick pop into Hell should be no problem.”

 

“The million dollar question.” Jughead sighs.

 

There’s a low rumble from beneath them and the whole house begins to shake. Sabrina jumps to her feet and frantically beings checking the wards placed around her home, cursing and confused. The pictures on the walls shake and the glass on the table nearly falls to the floor and shatters. And then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, it stops.

 

“What the hell was that?” Sabrina looks around again, hands shaking.

 

Another woman pops into the room, heavy set, with dimples and a little smile. “Dear, the summoning circle just went off. Oh, hello Jughead will you be joining us for brunch? And you brought a friend! I’ll put two extra plates out!”

 

“Aunt Hilda, did you say the summoning circle?”

 

“Oh yes, indeed I did. Perhaps a call from a friend of yours? Normally Jughead’s the one popping in and out of it. Let me know how that goes!”

 

The three of them quickly make their way down to the Spellman’s cellar, throwing open the door and scurrying into the room. It’s nearly empty aside from a large circle carved into the dirt, traced in red paint, with candles sitting at each of the five points. Standing in the center is a woman dressed in purple. Lightning crackles off the ends of her brown hair as she dusts off the pin on her overcoat. Jughead recognizes her immediately and unease clenches his stomach tight. Betty turns to him, nervous, reaching out to take his hand in hopes of earning any comfort from the situation. Right now he has none to give.

 

“Jughead Jones,” she says tight-lipped, with a fire burning in her eyes. “You have a lot of explaining to do.

 

Standing before him is Veronica Lodge, his mother’s personal assistant, a greed demon of immense power and reputation. And she looks like she is going to kill him.


	4. The Assistant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -pulls myself out of a month long depression to gift you with this chapter-  
> Sorry for the wait guys, my life has been crazy and messy and awkward and I'm trying to deal with things in an organized borderline adult way. I hope you enjoy this chapter, shout out to @miss-eee for not strangling me and keeping me motivated.
> 
> Thank you <3

Sabrina had quickly escorted Betty out of the basement soon after Veronica’s arrival, claiming that there was tea upstairs that needed to be shared. Now they sit awkwardly with two nearly empty porcelain cups as they listen to the vague screams occurring from down below. Betty isn’t sure she would ever want to see demons fight, so she’s glad instead she’s staring down at the little flowers decorating the bottom of the cup, floral peekaboos from behind the swirling black liquid. She wonders if there’s magic in this tea. If there’s magic in everything she’s ever touched and just never been any the wiser.

“My name’s Sabrina, by the way,” the white-haired girl says from across the couch, her fingers curled in the thick black fur of a cat who is curled up in her lap. “I don’t think I properly introduced myself because I was so busy thinking about how much of an asshole Jughead is. Sorry for the rudeness. My aunts definitely raised me better than that.”

“No, no, don’t be. Really, I get it. I’m not offended at all. Thanks for the tea. It’s good.”

The conversation is painfully awkward, but Sabrina, surprisingly, opens her mouth to keep talking, almost like she’s so uncomfortable she can’t help the words pouring out of her mouth. “I never expected to end up with a demon attached to me like this. It’s sort of weird every time I think about it, that he can just come to me for favors and I can call him to me whenever I want. I mean I have to usually go through the trouble of summoning him and he’s always been a pain in the ass when it comes to what sort of sacrifices he wants. It’s cool you can just...make him feel like you need him and he’ll be compelled to follow.”

Betty’s ears perk up and for a moment she is utterly terrified. “Sacrifices?” It’s the only word she heard really.

“Oh! Oh no. Oh shit, no,” the paleness of her face must be obvious because Sabrina works quickly to clarify, “I don’t mean like three virgins or anything. Jughead would never. You just have to have something to tempt a demon when you need something from them. Jughead’s original birth-sin is gluttony so it’s mostly food. I bring a hamburger and some fries but he only likes it from Pop’s so I have to drive all the way out to Riverdale, find a place to park my broom that isn’t conspicuous, and then have Pop make me his order all so I can bring it back and ask for his devilish intervention on my math homework.”

“He really helps you with things like that?” She relaxes a little at the image of an all-powerful demon sitting over some geometry calculations. But then another thought pulls at her mind. She remembers the vision she had, the demon with the thick black wings and the large curled horns. Red eyes and sharp teeth. But she didn’t see enough. She wonders how terrifying she might find him, or if there would be a staggering sense of beauty in her fear. “Have you ever...seen him in his demon form?”

“Oh. Well yeah, a few times, mostly when he’s too tired to put on his human skin. Not that he zips it up like a fursuit or anything, more like materializes it in front of his body and I don’t know if it's only weird to watch him shift through a witches’ eyes. I can almost see what he’s using. Almost. Apparently, Hilda and Zelda can handle it just fine. I think it all depends on how old you are. I’m mostly interested in what sort of things you’ll be able to see though. There haven’t been records of a human and a demon being bound together for years. It’s fascinating, honestly.”

The door opens before Betty can answer, and from it appears Jughead, following behind the demon woman like a puppy who knows he’s about to be punished for ripping a hole in the carpet. She’s still taken aback by the woman’s striking beauty. The night sky darkness of her hair, the gentle flush of her cheeks, the redness of her eyes -- there isn’t a thing about her that isn’t frightening and intriguing. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, and she’s sure she’s been caught staring.

“And completely illegal. Has been for a very long time,” the woman says curtly, heels clicking against the wooden floor. “And he knew it when he made the completely idiotic decision to follow through on it anyway. Not only has he interfered with destiny--”

“Which doesn’t even exist, really, since humanity itself is constantly interfering with their own destiny and there are a million planned outcomes depending on which of a million decisions a person could make but whatever. Blame the demon for apparently completely shattering the timeline.” Jughead mutters.

She moves quick and smacks the back of his head. “Shut it before I rip out your tongue and make you eat it in front of your new pet. You are in so much trouble and not only that but you’ve gotten me in trouble too. Your mom sent me to Earth so I could babysit you until your trial!”

“Right.” Sabrina turns to Betty, offering her a gentle smile. “For some clarity, this is Veronica. She works for Jughead’s mom, Queen of Hell and literal and figurative demon Gladys Jones, a Green demon who clawed her way up in ranks just to get to be married to his dad, the King. As Queen, she’s in charge of a lot of legal work in Hell, specifically when demons break the rules, including and not limited to her son.”

“Someone needs to watch and take note of what’s happening before the trial,” Veronica continues hotly, “and your mother isn’t an impartial person so they decided I would be the best one to do it. It’s been so long since we’ve had a binding, and never of this caliber before. Normally it’s minor demons causing this kind of trouble not the Prince of Hell who should absolutely know better by now but is an idiot.”

Sabrina snorts. “They have a lot of history.”

“So mom sent you to watch me while she and the Seven figure out if they’re going to behead me or ground me for the next millennium? Please, I don’t need to be watched like a child. Where would I go?”

“The Seven are the Seven Deadly sins,” Sabrina explains. “They act as advisors to the King and Queen. Though the Queen is technically also one of the Seven, the King isn’t. Once you take on the moniker of Satan, you sort of get a weird all-encompassing power. At least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never actually met him except when I signed my name in the book to be a witch, but he was wearing the traditional ceremony garb, and you can’t really see someone’s face behind a goat mask.”

Betty’s head felt like it was going to explode at any moment. All of this information was hard to process. Demons and monsters and witches and bindings and apparently some sort of bureaucratic trial system that might put Jughead’s life at risk as well as her own. If it weren’t for the tea in her stomach, she might just throw up.

“You know they won’t kill you. You’re the only one left eligible for the throne as far as anyone concerned, especially after what happened with your sister,” Veronica hissed.

Turning to Sabrina, who was acting as an incredibly kind and patient interpreter, Betty offered her a sheepish grin. The girl laughed. “I don’t know the details on this one very much, but from what the rumors say, Jughead’s twin sister, Jellybean, became an angel after receiving Adam, Eve’s counterpart because she freaked out.”

Betty felt the low purr in her chest, the hum in her skin as Eve reacted to the sound of her name. Without thinking, she gently reached up to touch where she knew the creature’s head was resting on the slope of her shoulder. Her body relaxed immediately and she smiled.

“She’s the clockmaker now,” Sabrina continued. Betty blinked twice to indicate her confusion. “Right. Sorry, the clockmaker is essentially this hermit of a person, can be from Heaven or Hell though most usually Heaven, that makes the world’s clocks. These include the clocks for human lifespan, which stop spinning upon death, but also clocks for important world events that are scheduled to happen. Supposedly they’re created by weaving together fragments of stardust and pieces of reality. It’s incredibly difficult and time-consuming, so the Clockmaker is an incredibly revered individual. It helps that she’s also the princess of Hell. It’s complicated. Caused a lot of family tension or so I’ve been told.”

Veronica and Jughead are arguing now, quietly about things that she can’t understand. They slip into tongues that sound ancient and even Sabrina looks at a loss for words as she squints and tries to scrawl out recognizable words on a spare piece of paper. Eventually, she gives up and turns back towards Betty.

“Lots of history.”

“So, you said.” She takes another drink of her tea, sighing when she finds the bottom of the cup empty. Having something to do with her hands was the only thing keeping her sane. “What kind of history?”

“They were engaged for a while. Veronica’s dad is part of the Seven too, but he’s a Pride Demon. It was an arranged marriage and they figured out quickly it wasn’t going to work after Veronica nearly impaled him when they were kids. At least that’s the rumor. Who knows how it really shook out. Neither of them will talk about what really happened, so it’s all speculation at this point.”

A weird rage boils in the pits of Betty’s stomach, like the embers of a fire that twist her guts until she’s sick with something that feels akin to jealousy. She wonders if this is Eve’s influence or just an aspect of their binding. Her body feels like it belongs to him, and he belongs to her by extension, so she is reacting poorly to the information she might ever have to share. That’s the logical explanation for it all.

Absentmindedly, she curls her fists in and feels the gentle bite of her nails against her skin. It helps to ground her in the reality of right now.

“Don’t do that,” Jughead says quickly, snapping his gaze to her. “You’re going to make us bleed.”

Us. It still feels strange to think about the fact that her body is not entirely her own at this point in her life. They’re tied together in ways that are inhuman, unfathomable for her brain. There’s an intimacy there as he reaches out and takes her hands, delicately uncurling her fingers, before setting them down with purpose back into her lap. There are little marks but the ache is gone.

This is going to be the rest of her life, Betty realizes, no matter how long or short that life is. No matter what happens with Jughead and the Council of Seven, her life is changed forever. She lives tied to a demon now. His movements influence hers. She wonders if he has a heart beating in time with her own. Do demons have hearts? There’s so little she knows about him and this world that she has now become part of.

If the Council decided to sever their bond, the extension of her life would be over. There was so much in her life left she wanted to do. Coming back to Riverdale was supposed to be a blip on her radar while she tried to put her life back together and now it had become all-consuming. What came after this life? There was a heaven and hell but how would she know where she landed? She turns to Jughead and watches him for a moment. Would he tell her if she asked?

“You’ve made her anxious,” Jughead’s voice is tight as he turns to Veronica. “She thinks you’re going to kill her.”

“She should already be dead. That’s what Fate had planned for her before you interfere. I’m sorry, Betty, was it?” She nods and Veronica continues unbothered, swinging her hair over her shoulder. “I’m sure you’re a lovely person. In fact, I read through your file and you really are. But you were complicit in this affair and there are dangers to a human owning Eve and being bound to a demon that we can’t even fully comprehend. Demon and human binding was outlawed for a reason but now he’s gone and done something stupid like this. We don’t know what’s going to happen.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re overreacting. All of you are.”

“And you didn’t answer me before, so will you answer me now. Why? She’s just a human. Really, no offense, but you are, in the grand scheme of things.”

Betty shakes her head, trying to hide her embarrassment. She’s sure Veronica has seen a million humans in her life, so it isn’t a purposeful jab but it doesn’t help the sting. “None taken.” Truthfully she’s been wondering the same thing. Why her?

Jughead pauses but is quick to immediately take the defensive. “It doesn’t matter why I did it. It just matters that I did. Whatever the repercussions are of that, I’ll deal with it.”

It’s such a strange moment, to be able to feel his emotions. They aren’t as intense as she feels her own, they don’t cripple or sway her, but in the back of her mind, she feels a gentle hum of annoyance and the laps of stifled fear like he is trying to control his reaction. It’s the same sort of feeling she gets when an old memory creeps up on her in the dead of night. 

Every movement of his is measured, calculated, and watching him and Veronica is like an intricate waltz she can barely keep up with. They say words she can’t understand again, but they sound venomous and even Sabrina looks startled by them. Finally, the black haired girl calms her temper and clasps her hands tight.

“Fine. Then I’ll read the official charges, the punishments, and we can get this started. Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third,” Betty shoots him a curious glance but he keeps his vision focused forward, jaw set tight as he listens to Veronica’s speech. “You are being accused of creating a legal binding with a mortal, transferring ownership of a Hell relic to said mortal, pulling at the strings of fate, and abandoning your post as Reaper. For the time being, you are to be bound to the Earthly plane of existence, meaning no returning to Hell, Heaven, or the time-keepers realm. Your powers will be temporarily muted and you will remain in the confines of Riverdale, Greendale, and the smaller surrounding area until further notice. You will be temporarily relieved of your duties until the situation is sorted. Sound reasonable?”

“No, it sounds sort of like bullshit, but I can’t really argue with you, can I? This was mom’s idea wasn’t it? All this formality.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and gestures for him to stand. “You know she can get in trouble if she doesn’t do it, Jughead. There are already hundreds of demons gnawing at the bit to dethrone her.”

“Dad always says he’s too old to get married again.”

“My dad’s been married sixteen times.”

“Your dad is a pride demon, Veronica, if he didn’t have seven wives telling him how wonderful he was, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.”

She tuts her tongue against the roof of her mouth but doesn’t make any more sounds to argue. When Jughead finally stands, he offers his wrists out to her, muttering something about making sure this goes quickly. Betty can tell he’s put on a front. That right now he’s upset in ways that are difficult to put into words. Betrayal, hurt, pain tugs at the edge of her nerve endings, a barely there haunting of emotions.

They’re speaking in tongues again as Veronica clamps tightly down on his wrists. Pain shoots through Betty’s arms and she quickly pulls them tight to her chest, trying to ignore the hiss of burns on her skin. It’s like a white-hot rod is being shoved straight into her veins and before she can stop herself she lets out a whimper.

Sabrina turns to her in surprise but she must quickly realize what is happening, before she moves quickly beside her on the couch. Slowly they watch as an etching weaves into her skin, raised like chain scars. They’re faint. Unless someone was, looking they would be none the wiser to the ever constant shift in her body.

Under her skin, she can feel Eve begin to seethe with rage. The snake dashes forth across her body but her head stops just short of the invisible barrier that’s been made. It burns. It aches. She can feel tears in her eyes and watches as they splatter on her dress.

“Interesting,” she hears Veronica whisper. “I didn’t realize the wounds would transfer with the pain. I hope I did it right.”

“You hope you did it right. What the hell is your problem? You said it yourself, this isn’t just my life anymore there’s a human being attached to it now. Remember to write that in your report.” Quickly she can feel his presence beside her. The pain ebbs back just a little, but her hands still shake and even the slightest breeze against the newly scarred skin makes her whimper. She remembers a time she’d laid her hand against the stove as a child - too hot, and the skin was ruined by burn. She waited months for it to heal and even putting the ointment on it in the morning made her want to cry.

“Just relax, Betty,” Jughead’s words are soft as he gathers her hands up in his again. The little marks on her hand are already healed, apparently the work of his ever fast self suturing, but these new burns are meant as a reminder for the laws he has broken and she has no doubt they’ll remain raw. “Hold still.”

Betty wants to ask what he’s about to do, lifting her hands up so daintily. He’s bringing them towards his mouth and before she can squeak out the “What-?” that’s on the edge of her brain, his tongue darts out, tracing along the marks. It hurts at first, like the tip of a needle piercing through her skin, and she jerks back. The grip he has on her wrists holds her steady as he continues to trace the pattern. After a moment, the pain from before starts to recede, replaced by a gentle tingle on her skin.

“Demon lidocaine,” Sabrina explains, eyes wide as she watches the scene before her. Betty can feel the redness on her cheeks. Whatever this moment is, it feels strangely intimate, and there are two pairs of eyes trained so tightly on them that it makes her squirm. “They use it sometimes before they devour souls. Having your soul ripped out can be sort of a painful process. Some demons are into that, but there’s a mechanism in their bodies to help assist the process.”

“It’s a bit dated, though. We don’t really have to rip souls anymore. They’re usually given willingly or we wait until after death when they’re easier to extract. But I’m not surprised Jughead is into something barbaric like this.” Veronica snorts and clicks her heels impatiently against the ground.

He doesn’t move until the pain is gone and when he pulls back he seems strangely satisfied by the exchange. Blue eyes darken as he watch her curiously. Betty wonders if he’s listening to the thunder of her heart. “Better?”

“Yeah,” she manages to squeak out. “B-better. Thank you.” The coiling knots in her stomach have calmed as well. Eve is displeased, unhappy, but for now at least satisfied that her current home is not withering in pain.

“Good. It’ll last half the day. I’ll do it again later, but eventually, the marks will stop hurting. They’ll still be there until Veronica chooses to remove the chains, since she’s the only one who put them on there. The numbing normally lasts longer but as you just saw, I’ve been muffled.”

“Because you made a mistake. There are consequences to your actions.”

His eyes narrow as he watches Veronica. “Coming from you? Your ‘Daddy’ is one of the Seven, don’t act like you’ve never been spoiled by privilege in the underworld. If I remember correctly, he pulled enough strings that you were allowed onto Earth before I was. What was that guy's name again? Nick? Whatever happened to his soul, Veronica.”

“Nope,” Sabrina stood up quickly, shaking her head. “Nope. No way. We are not doing this here in my living room. I refuse to watch two demons claw each other’s faces off when I have an exam to study for tomorrow. Go away. Get out. I rescind my invitation or whatever.”

Veronica tuts again, “We’re not vampires. That doesn’t work.”

Betty turns quickly to Jughead, eyes wide as she tries to comprehend the possibility that there’s even more out there than she had ever imagined. “I thought you said vampires weren’t real!”

“I didn’t lie. Vampires in the pop culture sense that you’re thinking of don’t exist. They’re just sort of...specialized demons? Most demons prefer souls but there are a few that are addicted to human flesh and they can present themselves as otherworldly alluring creatures. But it’s those demons that created the human concept of vampires. There was one demon who’d always change his appearance to go with the current fad on vampire lore.”

“Chuck was the worst,” Veronica muttered under the breath.

“Finally, something we can agree on. So am I free to go then? For now?”

“No, you’re under surveillance. I’ll be watching Jughead, but occasionally I’ll return to Hell to offer reports. We don’t have a set date for the trial currently and we won’t until we gather all the facts. Sorry to put you in limbo like this Betty. I know it isn’t ideal and you didn’t have any say in the situation.”

Betty shakes her head, offering Veronica as much of a smile as she can muster given the current situation. Things are hard right now, terrifying, to say the least. She didn’t know how to handle all of these weird and new developments on top of swallowing the knowledge that at any moment her life could come to another abrupt end because the Seven Deadly Sins and the King of Hell were going to ground Jughead for an eternity.

“I understand. You’re just doing your job. Keeping order as best you can. I admit I hadn’t expected Hell to be so organized though.”

“It didn’t use to be,” Veronica says quickly. “Think about times like the Dark Ages and you can decently pinpoint when things were an absolute mess with no law or order. There have been advancements that have helped astronomically. Of course, we’ll always be in a dominance battle with Heaven but there’s been truces and understandings that have helped us both regulate how much we meddle with humanity and each other. I know Hell is painted as this despondent wasteland where only sinners go, but we’re not as predatory as that. Of course, it is our job to cause corruption and temptation, but most of the minor things we do aren’t all bad. No one’s going to hell for sleeping with a few too many people or overeating at dinner one night.”

“Do you make people do those things? Is it like they’re being compelled?” She has so many questions and now feels like as good of a time as any to get answers.

Jughead shakes his head with a laugh, offering her a crooked grin. “No. We don’t ever make anyone do anything, not really. It’s more than just easing your inhibitions so you don’t feel as guilty about giving into base desires. Everything we bring out is already inside of you. A lust demon can’t just walk up to a committed married person and make them cheat on their wife, but if that desire is already there, then that’s where the trouble lies. And everyone has wickedness inside of them. Which isn’t a bad thing, it just is. If everyone was perfect, they’d all be angels. Not that angels are perfect either. They’re catty.”

“You’re just still bitter that Kevin stole that last soul from you,” Veronica teases.

“Kevin is a liar and a cheat and I stand by that.”

Betty allows herself to relax just a little, sitting back into the softness of the sofa and rubbing gently at her wrists. The old cushions wheeze under her shifting. Sabrina offers her another cup of tea and a gentle smile. For the first time since she arrived, she had a moment to think and process.

Cheryl Blossom was a witch. This was likely the most surprising news of the day. They had been best friends in High School, partners in crime and co-captains on the cheer squad. She still remembers the day Cheryl had thrown the jacket her way, a pink bedazzled 2nd in Command catching the light. But they had a falling out not long after graduation. Maybe it had something to do with the witchiness. Maybe it didn’t.

“Sabrina, can I ask you a question? Are you born a witch, or made to be one?”

“Oh. Weird question but I guess it makes sense. You’re born a witch because of bloodlines. They say that the first witch in a family comes from the blood of a Nephilim, half human and half demon, but there’s no real proof of that. But most traditional witches have to sign their soul over to the Devil.”

“Not really,” Jughead corrects her. “He doesn’t just have a long roster of men and women. It’s not a soul-sucking party anymore and you know for a fact there’s been some witches that go to heaven. It’s more so just to keep track of bloodlines and keep demons safe. Witches used to bind themselves to demons all the time. It created havoc for both groups, so having a list makes it easier.”

“Your dad just likes to dress up and be spooky and you know it.”

He laughs, “You caught me, Sabrina. More than anything I want to wear a ram’s mask and watch naked people write their names in blood in a book that we say is bound by skin. It’s actually rams skin, by the way.”

“Wow, way to ruin the allusion. And here I was, thoroughly disgusted for most of my life,” Sabrina pouts.

These people are extremely strange. But then again, they aren’t people like her or Archie or her family. They are demons and witches with their own knowledge of a world she doesn’t understand. Resolved, Betty sits up a little straighter. “Sabrina, can I give you my phone number? I’d love to ask you a few more questions about everything. If I’m going to be part of this world, then I need to be prepared for everything so I don't get blindsided like this again.”

“You can just ask me,” Jughead says, fidgeting with obvious irritation. “I’m right here and we’re bound together, Betty.”

“And I will, but I want an outsider's perspective on all of that too. A witch and a demon are going to have different views and I need to be as informed as possible.”

Veronica smiles, “Oh, I think I like you. A human without fear. It’s refreshing beyond belief. I’ll be around too if you’re curious about how the business side of everything works. Jughead’s never been very good at that.”

Before he can speak up to defend himself, Betty’s pocket starts to vibrate, playing a familiar tune she’s had as her ringer since early high school when her mother finally gave her, her own number. It had been such an argument but once Alice realized that she was getting anxiety about knowing her daughter's whereabouts, they were walking out of the store with a shiny new pink phone case that matched the rubber bands she had on her braces brackets.

“Oh, shoot,” she stares down at the familiar picture. It’s her and Archie from Winter break, when he had come to visit her before they both headed back to Riverdale and the two of them went ice skating. The embarrassing Snapchat filter he had chosen gave her spotted dog ears but they were both grinning like idiots who were buzzed on holiday cheer and the hot toddies she had made them. “It’s Archie. I should answer this. Everyone - be quiet.”

From beside her, she can hear a gentle hiss coming from Jughead. It surprises her just enough to catch her off guard and it’s Archie who has to be the first to say, “Hello? Betty? Are you okay?”

“Oh! Oh yeah, yeah sorry Arch I was just distracted, sorry. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s totally fine. Except for the fact that I came by to surprise you with a house listing and your mom told me you were out of bed doing something with your boyfriend. And when she asked if I met him I had to totally lie to her face and say I thought he was a cool dude. A little warning would have been nice. And since when do you have a boyfriend?”

Fuck. Leave it to her very best friend in the world to stumble his way into an awkward lie that got him at least partially caught up in her currently daily nonsense. Explaining to her mother there was a secret boyfriend was one thing. She was notoriously overbearing. But Archie was her rock, her brother, and this was a betrayal of that trust. No doubt he was going to bring up that time she went with him to the health clinic because he was sure he had herpes and it turned out to just be a rash from the type of soap he was wearing. That was trust and loyalty. Not telling him about her boyfriend was the exact opposite.

“It’s really a new development Archie. I kept him a secret because I didn’t know if we would last.”

“I just…we tell each other everything, don’t we Betty?” 

She could hear it in his voice. The tightness that was always there whenever he felt like a kicked puppy. She groans silently. “We do! I was going to tell you first. When we were looking at houses, I wanted to tell you over coffee once I knew it wasn’t just something passing but after I got into the car accident he freaked out and came out here to check on me. My mom caught him and I had to tell her first.”

“I guess that makes sense. You were really going to tell me?”

Thank God his ego was satiated so easily. “I was. As soon as possible. Here, I’m with him right now, what if I promise to meet you at Pop’s so you can properly get introduced. I owe you a burger and a milkshake.”

“Yeah? That sounds swell, Betty, I’ll be there.” From the other end of the line, she can hear him lit up like a Christmas Tree. Even this far away, his smile is infectious to her. “I can be there in half an hour?”

“Sounds perfect! And fair warning, his name is Jughead. I know it’s weird.” He scoffs beside her, moving closer, pushing himself against her like a needy cat. It’s a strange moment but she doesn't think much of it because she doesn’t have the time. Archie is talking again even as Jughead’s hand snakes up her back and brings her even closer.

Archie laughs. “Jughead? What kind of name is that? Leave it to you, Betty! I bet he’s totally that sophisticated type. He writes poetry or something. Can’t wait to meet him. I’ll grab our usual spot. See you soon.”

“Yeah! Real soon. Bye, Arch.” By the time she hung up the phone, Jughead was all but openly pawing her. Her eyebrows raised high. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. You can call him back and cancel whatever plans you made. I don’t like them.” He hadn’t stopped touching her still.

Veronica rolled her eyes as Sabrina stifled a giggle. “She already smells like you, Jughead. Every demon in a mile radius knows it. You realize that humans won’t be able to tell, right?”

“Shut up, Veronica.”

Betty turned to Sabrina, curious, “I’m sorry, what’s happening?”

“Oh, that? He’s marking you. Making you smell like him. You know, like a possessive dog. Just pee on her already. I, for one, am glad you’ve made plans because it’ll get you all out of my house. And as much as I like the occasional company I have things to do and research and I’ve already fulfilled my end of the deal for today.”

Jughead grimaced, letting out an uneasy scoff. “We’ll leave in a minute, hold on. Even if I wanted to see your friends, and I don’t, we have a few things we’d need to explain. Like Veronica following us around with a clipboard taking notes for one.”

“I can be discrete. Just don’t draw any attention to me. Pop’s is a lovely place, though I’ve only been once or twice. Riverdale isn’t my typical haunt. I prefer the glitz and glamour of Hollywood or New York City. I’m sure there’s something to do in small town Riverdale that can keep me occupied though. Your friend, he’s human, right?”

Honestly, Betty doesn’t know for sure what Archie is. Given all this new information it wouldn’t be in the least bit surprising if one of them told her he sprouted wings in the middle of the night and fixed people's shoes like some sort of Keebler elf.

“Yes,” Jughead replies curtly. “Incredibly.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. You know I’m human too, right? Or did you forget?”

He looks at her curiously; mouth pulled into a thin little line. “It’s different.”

“Well, we can’t keep him waiting. It’ll be an interesting development to watch the prince himself cavort around humans. He’s usually so reclusive,” Veronica teases, straightening out her blouse. “Even with other demons.”

“Shut up, Veronica. Nobody asked you and you’re not coming. Things are already tense enough as it is.”

“Oh, yes, I absolutely am. I know you’re stupid but you seem to have forgotten it’s currently my job to follow you around and make sure you’re playing nice and check for any adverse side effects that are happening to your new pet project.”

Betty flushes, resentful of the words she has chosen to use. Pet is not a word she particularly likes in conjunction with herself. She belongs to no one. Or, rather, according to what Sabrina had said, they belong to each other in a strange twist of fate. Just because he is the supposed Prince of Hell doesn’t mean anything.

Tightening her ponytail, she stands. “Veronica, you can come if you want. We’ll just make up a lie and you have to play along. Jughead’s my boyfriend as far as any of them know and you’ll be his sister who came to check on him after he left town quickly and without explanation. Archie will believe it easy and you two fight like siblings anyway.”

“My own sister and I don’t fight half as much as Veronica and I do.”

“Your own sister literally absconded to heaven. I’m not really sure that’s a good comparison.” The dark-haired woman turned towards Betty with a gentle grin, surprisingly soft given their situation. Maybe she wouldn’t be shaking in fear for the foreseeable future after all. “Tell me, Betty, how cute is your friend?”

From beside her, Jughead lets out a frustrated groan, muttering something to himself she can’t quite understand but has Veronica sending him a look. Objectively, Archie is an attractive person. He has thick muscles and a charming smile. He is the most loyal friend she has ever had, the most kind, the most genuinely involved with her happiness, though he can become a bit self-involved when it came to any budding romance in his life. He is quick to love, forgive, and laugh. His constantly radiating sunshine has kept her afloat for most of her life.

“He’s a really swell guy. Be nice to him.” If there was anyone she would willingly fight a demon for, it would be Archie, even if that demon could rip her soul out with a snap of her fingers. “Shall we? We got here by teleportation but I’m not sure if we can anymore?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Unfortunately my powers are dampened well enough that I’ll only be able to take us around Riverdale that way. The further the distance, the more energy. And it’s not really teleportation. I’m traveling through the shadows.”

“That almost sounds worse. Alright, I suppose we can walk but it’s going to take a long time.”

“Oh my God, you are not walking,” Sabrina rolls her eyes and gestures to Veronica. “She’s still a high-level demon. Please, get them all out of my house. Call me if you need anything, Betty, it was great to meet you, surprisingly. We can complain about how much Jughead eats.”

Betty raises her brows, confused by the strange warning. “Wait, how much does he eat?”

“Oh, I am ravenous,” the way he grins makes her whole body flame with something she can’t quite place. Thankfully, Veronica is already pulling them close and with a blink, that same feeling of dizziness has consumed her and when she opens her eyes again they are just outside of Pops.

Veronica is the first to speak, looking over the tiny diner with a grin. “You know this place used to have an underground speakeasy. I wonder if that’s still there. We could convince Pop to reopening it.”

“We aren’t doing that. A speakeasy is a beacon for demon activity and we don’t need any more running around here than there already are. Especially with two high profile ones already setting up an extended stay.”

Before she can retort, there’s the steady thunking sound of a car Betty recognizes, and she turns quickly to offer Archie a brilliant smile. The truck is crushed, something she still feels immensely guilty about, but the rental car isn’t anything to roll her eyes at. He parks a little crooked and throws open the door, bounding towards her like the excited puppy he is and throwing his arms around her in a tight hug.

“Should you even be out of bed like this, Betty? How are you feeling?”

She tries to feign a pained groan. Her body should feel like shit still, and the arm awkwardly in the cast that doesn’t hurt anymore should still be tender when pressed against him. Wiggling away, she offers him a smile. “As good as I can feel. Your car really helped me that night. If I had been in my mom’s station wagon, I’d be dead for sure.”

Pride radiates from his body, but she can feel the guilt that lingers underneath. He’s been blaming himself for this. “Good. Good, I’m glad.” He looks to the two new people behind them and offers a genuine smile. “Hi. I’m Archie Andrews. You must be Jughead but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of learning your name.”

Betty bites back the need to roll her eyes. She should have known. Veronica is beautiful, exquisite by human standards, and of course, he would be immediately attracted to the confidence and grace she carries herself with.

“Archie, this is Jughead’s sister.”

“Veronica Lodge,” she says with a soft grin, extending her hand out to him. “We have different fathers. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Betty can feel her radiating something and it sort of makes her nauseated, stepping back with surprise. Jughead catches her easily and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. She wonders if demons always do this, leak something into the air that enthralls their human, or if this is what he had been talking about before in terms of inhibitions. Not that Archie needs anything to make him think decisions through less than he already does.

“Wow. Betty, I wish you’d told me someone so pretty was coming. I would have changed.” He gestures to his dusty clothes and the dirt on his face. He must have been at work earlier today, breaking ground on his dad’s new project. “Sorry, I promise I’m not usually this much of a mess.”

“Oh, no no, don’t be sorry. I really don’t mind.”

She can tell by the way Veronica’s eyes rake across his body that she really doesn’t. Quickly, before the conversation can creep any closer to PG-13, she interjects, “How about we go inside? Standing still makes me ache and I’m starving.”

They quickly make their way into the shop. Pop greets them with a stilted hello, obviously surprised that two of his most frequent human customers have appeared with demons beside them. Betty is sure he’s wondering if they have any idea what’s really happening. She wishes briefly that she didn’t.

The waitress who comes to take their order recognizes her and offers her a smile, “Oh Betty! You’re out of bed and you look like you’re doing so much better. We were so worried when we all heard what happened, but I guess it’s not as bad as we thought. Do you want your usual milkshake? On the house for celebration.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she flushes gently and smiles. “But thank you. That sounds amazing. And then for my friends too.”

“Oh, Jug, it’s good to see you again. I didn’t know you knew Betty.”

He nods, awkwardly tossing his arm around her shoulders, “Yeah. She’s actually my girlfriend.” His words sound only slightly stilted and Betty leans in slightly to her touch.

“Really? Oh, congratulations! I’ll grab your usual too. In fact, I think the only face here I don’t know is yours,” she smiles gently towards Veronica. “What’ll it be?”

While she answers, Archie regards them with vague interest. He’s squeezed into the booth beside Veronica not that either of them seems to mind, but it gives him a good view of Jughead and Betty. She prays that his sleuthing ineptitude lasts through the day at least. “Your mom said he wasn’t from around here. How do they know him?”

“Family business has ties to Pop,” Jughead explains easily. “It’s how I knew about Riverdale when Betty told me she was from there.”

Betty nods to back him up. “Exactly. It was a great coincidence. Made it easier for him to find me when I got hurt too.”

He watches them with squinted eyes for only another minute before nodding, uneasy, but at least believing their hasty lies for now. “Cool. So Veronica, tell me a little bit about you?”

They flirt throughout the entire lunch. Neither Jughead or Betty say much of anything, but his arm only leaves her shoulder when there’s food in front of him. She misses the warmth just a little but reminds herself that’s her body’s reaction to the bond. 

When Veronica’s light touches and gentle patting of her eyelashes starts to wear thin on her, she stands awkwardly. “Would you be willing to go to the restroom with me, Veronica? I still need help with a few things given the cast.”

She looks at her wearily but nods once. “Of course.”

Promising the boys they’ll be back; Betty can feel a brief flash of panic throughout Jughead’s body as he’s forced to make small talk with a human he doesn’t like for no reason. Good. That’ll serve him right for now.

They head to the bathroom and Betty quickly spins on Veronica. “I don’t know what game you’re playing with Archie, but be careful. He’s good and when he likes people, he’ll do anything for them. I don’t care if you’re a demon or not. If you hurt him, I’ll figure out a way to hurt you. So don’t play with him like some toy.”

Veronica’s eyes narrow, a wicked grin spread across her features as she laughs out loud. The whites of her eyes start to recede until nothing but a thick redness replaces them. Two pointed horns start to peak out through her hair. Her nails are long and sharp just like her teeth as she walks Betty back into a corner. Fear situates itself right in the pit of her stomach as Veronica drags the point of her nail along the edge of her jawline.

“Oh you sweet, stupid little human. You think I couldn’t kill you? If it didn’t hurt the Prince I would have ripped out your heart already. You’re supposed to be dead and you’re tempting the time you already borrowed. I am not someone to be threatened, Elizabeth, so you had best watch your tongue next time you speak with me.” She laughs when she sees how frightened Betty is, shaking. “You’ve never seen a demon like this before, have you? Well. It’ll certainly be interesting to see what you have to say about your new bond mate’s true appearance.”

Betty wants to bite back, to say anything, but all that comes out is a whimper. Veronica laughs and pulls back, whatever changes disappearing back into her body, leaving her just as beautiful as she was before. “Watch yourself. Not many demons are as forgiving as me and Jughead are.”

She exits quickly as Betty’s body collapses to the ground, shaking and tears rolling down her cheeks. She can feel Jughead’s panic in tandem with her own and soon enough he’s by her side. Eve traces up her spine and curls gently around her neck in what Betty is sure is supposed to be a comforting embrace. It helps to calm her ragged breathing just a little.

Wordlessly, he gathers her into his arms. “Alright. Enough excitement for today. I think it’s time to go home.”

Betty clings tightly to him and can only muster a nod. In the back of her mind, she prays that Archie can take care of herself, at least for today.


	5. The Apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. I am so, so so SO apologetic this fic took so long to update. My life has been insane and I've been trying to best to keep myself put together. New anti-depressant as well as a lot of other family and mental health things I've been dealing with. Thank you all for staying strong and everyone who's messaged me excitement about this fic. and most of all, tahnk you to @miss-eee for being a patient, adoring, and wonderful beta whom I adore. She's the only reason anything ever gets finished. <3

_“Juggie, don’t tease me,” Betty whimpers, feeling the soft press of his teeth against the curve of her neck. The points dig in, just like his nails do, raking along the curves of her body. Even the smallest touch feels like fire in her veins ready to boil  over at the slightest whisper of breath on her skin._

 

_The demon is perched above her, a wicked grin on his lips that sends a thrill down her spine. The human venire he has so carefully constructed is fading a little in the glow of the moonlight as he lets her see the very depths of his soul. His tail curls up, wrapping around her thigh and making her shiver. It’s got the same smoothness of a snake and just as intimidating._

 

_Eve pools near her stomach as she preens under Jughead’s careful ministrations. He hasn’t touched her yet, not in a way to satisfy the ache between her thighs and the dampness of the lace panties. She can’t remember why she’s wearing something so scandalous, but nothing has ever felt so good as the way the point of his finger drags along her clit._

 

_“I think you like to be teased,” his voice rumbles, gritty and tight, but still so familiar. It makes her toes curl as she stares up into those beautiful blue eyes. “Tell me, Betty, do you like to be owned.”_

 

_Her legs shake as her body fights the impulse to please him. It’s a battle she loses, but all she offers him is a quick jerk of her head as her hips chase her pleasure on his hands. The response seems to satisfy him and he grins at her again._

 

_There’s something beyond lust blooming in the nestled safety of her chest when she looks up at him and sees an ocean of wonder. The next kiss he greets her with is the sweetest she’s ever had, a feather-like touch on her lips, and if it weren’t from the horns she can feel poking up through the curls of his hair, Betty might think she had been kissed by an angel._

 

_Jughead starts to kiss his way down, sharp teeth nipping at her thigh, another bruise to add to her ever-growing collection. It’s his way of marking her, making her reek of him so no one else will try to come near her. The reverence with which he treats her is endearing._

 

_“Wait,” she gasps and nearly snapping her legs shut around his head. He looks up at her disgruntled but Betty knows if she doesn’t say it now, she might never find the courage to again. “Juggie, I-”_

 

She is awoken by the loud beep of the microwave, jolting upright so fast her head gets fuzzy and there are black and white stars imprinted in her vision until the fog starts to clear. Scattered around her are papers from the Riverdale Register her parents had entrusted her to edit. It’s been nearly a month since her fateful car accident and only now are they giving her the opportunity to actually start working at the job she moved back here for.

 

Underneath the red pen marked papers are apartment listings that Archie has brought to her when he thinks she’s alone (she never really is) or occasionally has left in her mailbox. He doesn’t like Jughead and has made it abundantly clear with how many text messages she’s gotten about her “shady boyfriend creeping around at late hours during the night” asking her if she “knows for sure he isn’t stealing (her) underwear and selling it on eSlay to the highest bidder?” 

 

He does, however, apparently very much enjoy Veronica’s company. He’s mentioned to her on more than one occasion how weird it is that her mysterious boyfriend has such an amazing sister. Betty hasn’t argued much, mostly because him distracting the assistant from Hell has meant that she doesn’t have to cross paths with the creature that might as well be a manifestation of her bullied childhood nightmares.

 

Jughead is currently perched on one of her mother’s barstools with a cup of coffee in his hands and a half-eaten bagel in the other, staring down at her like she’s on one of the daytime reality television shows she put on for him in a vague attempt to distract him like a cat a few days ago but ended up getting him insanely addicted to and now all he wants to do is watch the newest episode of Faux Housewives and complain about how come he never got assigned to something as easy as Atlanta for corrupting moms. His head is tilted to the side, eyes wide with curiosity. She’s drawn the comparison more than a few times since that night at Sabrina’s but he really is catlike above all other things. He hates being ignored, is afraid of strangers, and shiny light is distracting.

 

In theory, her doting boyfriend is supposed to be spending his nights camped out at the only hotel in Riverdale but Betty is starting to suspect that no one in her house actually believes that lie. He makes enough noise in her bedroom at night snooping through her old things and flipping through photo albums until she throws enough pillows at him to get him to quiet down. She’s never really seen him sleep in the way she does but occasionally she’ll wake up and catch him staring off at nothing through her blurry-eyed vision and feel calm just by his simple presence.

 

The fact of the matter is, Betty knows he’s bored out of his mind. He’s said it himself but there’s a certain amount of cabin fever he must be getting when he’s not allowed back home or even more than a few hundred yards away from her. He’s used to a busy life of doing whatever it is demons do. Used to reaping souls. Sitting here watching her fight with semicolons and figuring out what part of Riverdale will get them the cheapest rent must be mind-numbingly boring and extraordinarily mundane.

 

“Good dream?” He asks with a grin. Sometimes it’s easy to forget they have the connection they do, where he can feel the way her mind shifts and warps with emotion even if he doesn’t know what caused it. Betty just hopes he can’t tell that her underwear are extraordinarily uncomfortable at the moment.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she bites back but it’s only half-hearted. Betty itches under her cast, cursing the fact that she’s still forced to have the thing on for another two weeks just to placate the doctors and make sure they don’t discover the potential superhuman (or in this case demon) healing.

 

There are a few signatures on it. Archie’s is there, her parents, even Polly and a few people from the diner signed it. Jughead had written his name to nearly overlap her best friends, a large crown over the J that masks the stars Archie had written by his. It feels childish how much he marks his territory with her but she can’t deny that it feels nice to be wanted even if it is just a manifestation of their unholy bond.

 

“I would, in fact, like to know very much. So how about you tell me?”

 

She watches him swallow the last half of the bagel in two bites and feels sick to her stomach. How on Earth could she have been having dirty dreams about him? “None of your business. I hope you enjoyed the show; you won’t be getting another one anytime soon.”

 

“Well, whatever it was, you certainly had a few lust demons clawing at the windows to get a drink of your energy. Just saying.”

 

Betty isn’t sure she has enough energy to be mortified, but her cheeks go bright red and prove her wrong. Luckily she doesn’t need to pull a subject change out of thin air. The toaster pops with fresh bread and before she can move to point it out, the fire alarms are going off.

 

To watch a demon jump three feet in the air was funny the first few times it happened. Jughead, despite his interactions with humanity, was nearly inept at many of the basics. He had used up all the hot water on more than one occasion simply to “get it to feel like home” and the mailman had been so utterly baffling to him that he’d melted the tread of the tire and frantically told Betty that there was a stranger attempting to break into her home to deliver a package. It was cute at first.

 

Now, with another toaster burning with hellfire, she’s starting to think it’s much less endearing.

 

The metal of the toaster is currently engulfed in blue flames, crackling so loudly it feels like her ears might burst. This is not the comforting slow roast of a campfire in the middle of summer. Whatever flames demons are able to conjure, smell like sulfur and burn so white-hot it fills the air with smoke so thick it threatens to suffocate you.

 

“For fucks’ sake, Jughead put it out!” She gestures to the boiling metal, coughing as she stands up and grabs the broom so she can wave it in front of the fire detector. She’d tried to take all the batteries out but her mother had caught her and there was an earful lecture about fire safety that kept her up half the night.

 

“It’s hellfire! It stops burning when I want it to!”

 

“Then _want it to!_ ”

 

With a snap of his fingers, the blue flames extinguish and the gentle buzz of the fire alarm dissipates with a few more swats of the broom in the air. Betty turns to him with a glare and musters up enough forearm strength to toss the broom right at his head. He dodges, just barely, but looks like a wounded animal.

 

“That was mean.”

 

She groans and sits back in her chair. “How am I supposed to explain to my parents why we’re getting another toaster? The other one randomly combusts and now this one does the exact same thing? The factories are going to have to do the first toaster recall in the history of America all because someone thinks the sound is scary. What kind of demon are you?”

 

“I don’t think it’s scary!” His eyes flash black, something that is still frightening despite the few times she’s seen how he acts when his back is up. “I’m from Hell. I deal with the desperation of demons crawling up corporate ladders on a daily basis. Human culinary equipment is not scary. Why do humans have so many objects that scream at them when something is ready? It’s stupid.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes. “I’m taking away your toaster privileges. You want to use it, I’m the one in charge.”

 

He looks like he wants to argue for a minute, but finally, Jughead sighs, deflating a little into the seat as he polishes off what she can only assume to be the third cup of coffee. The toast is sitting there burnt to a crisp but he picks it up and takes a bite regardless of the way it dusts the table with crumbs.  “I’m sorry. I’m antsy. I’ve been trapped in my human skin for a month and it’s making me want to peel it off. But I’m not strong enough to flip back and forth whenever I want so I’d have to wait a few hours to be able to put it back on. I can’t do anything around here. I don’t know anyone but Veronica who’s a pain in the ass and Sabrina who we can’t visit unless you’re willing to do it, and you’ve been busy with work and finding an apartment with _Archie_ ,” she doesn’t miss the way he says her best friends name and has to fight back a giggle, “I can’t help it that I’m jumpy.”

 

That feeling is something she is rather sympathetic to most of her life, she was trapped in a place she hated under false pretenses of being a good daughter. Now the same thing has happened again, only there’s a demon and a mythical bond that no one really understands thrown into the mix. 

 

“Next time my parents are gone you can change, if you want. So you can air it out or whatever you need to do.”

 

To her surprise, Jughead grimaces, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Betty. Humans don’t really appreciate how demons look without the glamour of something familiar to them.”

 

She wants to argue, say that she’s seen him in her dreams without his mask, and there might be nothing she’s ever found to be as beautiful as the way his wings stretch wide and the way his skin reflects the moonlight. But for her own sanity, she decides against that and gives a noncommittal shrug before changing the subject.

 

Her phone beeps once and she excitedly picks it up. Archie’s supposed to come pick her up soon so they can look at a new apartment. She hasn’t told Jughead that he’ll be coming too (or Archie for that matter), since he’s to play the doting boyfriend who refuses to leave his girlfriend's side, and it’s likely that he would have to, at least in part, live with them.

 

“Hey Arch, what’s up?”

 

“Hey! I just left work on a site. I’m on my way to pick you up right now. I’m using my dad’s old car though and the air conditioning is broken. Think you can take a look at it once your arms all healed up?”

 

Betty smiles, nodding even though he can’t see her. She wishes she could tell him that she’s doing perfectly fine right now and the cast is only to keep up appearances but she keeps her mouth sealed tight. “Of course, I will. The truck still in the shop?”

 

“It’s working now but I figured…wouldn’t you want to not get into the truck that almost killed you? Like PTSD trauma flashbacks or something?”

 

“Oh.” Leave it to Archie to account for even the minor possibility of her trauma. It was sweet of him, but that’s just the kind of guy her best friend was. “Thanks, Arch. Now I have on tiny itty bitty favor to ask.”

 

“No.”

 

“You didn’t even know what I was going to ask!”

 

“You have your sugar voice on which I know from experience only comes before something I absolutely do not want to do. Like that time we were in sixth grade and you wanted to go to the junior high dance with Trevor Brown but your mom said the only way you could go is if Polly went too so I had to ask your sister and she tried to kiss me under a disco ball.”

 

“That was one time and I want you to try and forgive me for that it’s been years.”

 

“It happened twice, Betty! How can you forget the homecoming from hell?”

 

Well, mostly because she’d had so much alcohol at Cheryl’s after-party that she didn’t really remember Archie having to carry her home while she drunkenly sang Backstreet Boys songs and stopped every few feet to throw up in someone’s rose garden.

 

“Come one. This time won’t be that bad, I promise. All I’m asking is that Jughead comes with us to look at apartments.”

 

From beside her, she watches Jughead’s face shift into something unreadable as he stares down at his toast in disgust. He shakes his head once before moving closer. It’s the same kind of predatory slink he gets whenever he’s coming forward to claim his territory. She’s still not sure how she feels about being owned so thoroughly by a demon that he has to periodically mark her with his scent just to keep the other ones off of her.

 

“I’m not coming,” Jughead hisses to her.

 

Betty rolls her eyes and swats his hand. “Yes, you are, stop whining.” On the other end of the phone, she hears Archie making the same frustrated noises at her. She’s being assaulted from all angles and part of her thinks maybe this is a victory that isn’t worth having under her belt, but if her and Jughead are going to pretend to be so utterly smitten with each other that he drove from New York City to Riverdale when he heard she was sick then that means they’re going apartment shopping goddamn it, even if everyone was going to be absolutely miserable about it.

 

Her probably most of all.

 

“Fine,” Archie says after one more exaggerated groan. “It’ll give us time to get to know each other. I want to make sure he has pure intentions.”

 

“I don’t,” Jughead says, loud enough that Archie might catch enough of it to be suspicious. For emphasis, he slides his hand along Betty’s thigh, which she quickly smacks away.

 

“He’s very sweet, Arch.”

 

“I’m the literal prince of Hell.”

 

“And incredibly loving.”

 

“One time, I tortured someone with brimstone for three hours just to hear them scream.”

 

“Just an all-around swell guy.”

 

“I still have the soul of Penelope and Clifford Blossom in my messenger bag I keep hidden in an alternate dimension.”

 

Betty throws her hand over his mouth and smiles brightly at her phone. “I’ll see you in a few minutes! Bye!” She threw her phone to the side, turning towards the prince with a frown. “Can you at least play nice while we look at apartments? I would never date someone who Archie doesn’t like so if you keep antagonizing him, then I’m going to have to come up with a really good reason that we’re still dating.”

 

“You could always say that you’re pregnant with my child.”

 

“Oh, and how would you feel about that?”

 

He seems to genuinely consider this for a moment before his face contorts into a grimace and he shakes his head. “I don’t need Nephilim children running around, causing chaos.”

 

“My thoughts exactly. Also, you need to cut your nails soon. They felt weird scratching up my thigh.”

 

Jughead regards her strangely and looks down at his nails. They’re sharp points, the kind that someone (like Cheryl Blossom) might pay an astronomical amount to get filed to perfection at a nail salon. She wants to compare them to talons: razor sharp and dangerous.

 

“No. They don’t cut. I can’t glamor everything about my appearance. That would make it too easy. There’s almost always one demonic thing that lingers and mine are my nails. I’m luckier though - some people keep their eyes or their wings. So this is how they are.”

 

“That’s moderately terrifying.”

 

“All the best parts of me are.”

 

The best she can do is usher him upstairs to change in whatever magical way he does before Archie can get there. She’s frankly terrified of whatever disastrous rift is inevitably going to occur when Jughead punches Archie through space and time for getting on his nerves. A few minutes later there’s a knock at her door. She greets her friend with a quick hug with the side of her body that isn’t supposed to be as covered in painful bruises post car accident that nearly killed her. Betty says a silent thank you to Eve to remind her how grateful she is for all her help.

 

“Good to see you again, Jughead,” Archie says in a way that sounds like he’s said the exact opposite. It’s a strange day when her best friend isn’t even trying to put on his small-town football boy charm for someone.

 

The tension in the air is nearly suffocating and Betty swears if she squints she can see the electricity bouncing off of them like they’re in the still of a real-life comic book. For the first time, she hopes Jughead can feel her anxiety and takes it as a reminder to pause and not launch for the person she considers a brother and rip his head off to assert his demonic dominance. She watches his shoulders sink slightly, no longer looking like a cat ready to pounce. 

 

“Likewise. We ready to go look at apartments?”

 

The seating arrangements in the car are awkward, to say the least. Archie refuses to let them “canoodle in the back and make (him) look like an Uber driver,” but there’s something weird about making her supposed boyfriend sit in the back seat of a strangers car. Eventually, the awkward fumbling ends with Betty in the backseat and the two boys sitting in stiff silence beside each other as Archie drives them through the winding streets of Riverdale.

 

On the corner of First and Seventh, her blood runs cold and an uneasiness comes over her. It’s slow at first, an insidious creep up her spine, until suddenly she’s back bathing in a pool of her own blood as people scream out around her. Her voice is stuck in her throat. She wants to cry out that she’s alive, for now, but everything is black and there’s so much pain. Everywhere is so much pain. Her arm. Her legs. Her chest aches with the pressure of the airbag. She can hear the sirens and the screaming and weeping from her mother as she sat trapped in her own body wanting to cry out I AM HERE! I can hear you! I’m alive!

 

It’s empty. The world flakes underneath her, cracks in the ground splintering until she’s being swallowed whole and every breath is labored, like sucking through a cemented paper straw. Black and hollow and lifeless and she wants to scream but nothing comes out and all she can hear is the ragged gasp cutting through her chapped lips.

 

Suddenly a white light breaks through and Betty’s pulled from the darkness by the gentle touch of a hand, the comforting warmth as sharpened points thread through her fingers. When she opens her eyes after a gentle squeeze, Jughead’s eyes are focused towards the road but he’s reached his hand out to tangle with hers. She can feel Eve’s happy thrum and the fear slowly starts to dissipate. As a thank you, she squeezes again.

 

But Jughead doesn’t let go of her hand until they pull into the apartment complex and necessity forces them to part. She’s surprised by the gentleness, though this isn’t the first time he’s showed her a softer side to the hardened demon prince. What would Alice and the rest of the Riverdale congregation think if they discovered their boogie man was afraid of the toaster and got really excited watching reruns of _Flavor of Love_.

 

She walks close beside Jughead as they make their way to the housing office, where they’re supposed to meet with someone who will give them a tour of the apartment. Their hands brush together and an overwhelming urge to hold his hand is so powerful she has to curl her fingers into fists to keep from doing it. But then she feels his hand again and can see the gentle raise of his eyebrows.

 

“If you want to hold my hand, you can just say it. You don’t have to feed me energy like that.”

 

A part of her wants to be mortified, upset, but the comfort of his hand in hers helps ease the remaining fear that settled so tightly in her chest thanks to her car crash flashbacks. She’s survived so much, even just barely that being so frightened of an intersection is almost laughable. Or maybe it’s everything that came after she’s so frightened of.

 

“So,” the chipper woman smiles brightly, clasping her hands together. “We’re looking at an apartment for two correct? Are you here helping out the happy couple?”

 

Archie bristles at the insinuation. “Actually, Jughead lives out of town. Betty and I are moving in together.”

 

Her face deflates as she tries to parse out the complicated relationship that’s obviously been put forth in front of her. “Right. Well! Right this way. There are two bedrooms, it’s on the ground floor and it has a lovely patio, the largest in the entire complex. Obviously, you’ll have two keys and access to the pool. We’ve just finished renovating these apartments too.”

 

“What happened to them before?” Jughead whispers under his breath and Betty has to bite back a laugh to keep from having Archie glare at her. It’s such a twisted turn of events that it’s hard to comprehend what’s happening.

 

The apartment is quaint, like most things in Riverdale are. The two bedrooms are small but not intolerably so. Betty can see it coming together: a cute queen-sized bed, a space-saver desk, maybe a few other necessities they can get from IKEA after a day trip to New York. Her books will fit in the living room and the overflow can stack in a few bookshelves near her desk. Instead of the old chair Jughead keeps sleeping in, maybe he could curl up on the window seat in the master bedroom (because she’d be paying more rent than Archie) after she whipped up a few cushions for it.

 

Jughead being a recurring vision in her future planning is a surprise, though not an entirely unwelcome one. It makes sense. He’s stuck here for an undetermined amount of time, possibly forever since her life is linked to his, though that forever clings very tightly to the promise that the demon council currently putting him (and by proxy, her) on trial won’t immediately send him to the pits of Hell and have her soul put in the collection bottles that terrify her so much. She has wondered what her soul might look like tucked inside a little vile. Would she see the same dark swirls that were in Penelope and Cliffords?

 

On the other hand, Archie might not take too kindly to her request to let Jughead move in with them when they hardly know each other, and she’ll have to go about sneaking him in like she does at her parent’s house. Pretending he’s climbed in through the window is one thing, explaining how he broke into their apartment is another. Maybe if she pushes just a little bit, they can wiggle past hostile glares and into begrudging acquaintances. If only there was something they had in common other than her presence as an important human in their lives.

 

The woman shows them the kitchen which needs significantly more work than anything else in the house. Betty’s sure that with a brillo pad and some spray she’d be able to clean up the sink though it does look like it’s in desperate need of a little TLC after some sort of chemical spill occurred and stained the porcelain blue. There isn’t a microwave and honestly, from the frayed electrical wires still attached, it sort of looks like the last tenant ripped it from the wall as one last defiant fuck you to the landlords.

 

Still, it could be theirs. Hers. Something that doesn’t belong to her parents. She isn’t even in control of her own life anymore but this apartment would be a decision made completely on her own. No one but Archie would have a say in it.

 

“I like it,” Betty says finally, turning to Archie once the landlord steps away to give them a few minutes to discuss things. “I think we could probably talk down the price per month a little bit too. It’s missing a few basic things and if we promise to pay them out of pocket, it’ll give us a lot to work with. You work construction and I’m handy with a wrench.”

 

Archie contemplates this and nods, though his enthusiasm for the place isn’t as overabundant as hers. “It’s nice, yeah. Not a lot of room to practice my music, though.”

 

“I’m sorry, you’re a musician?” She can hear the surprise in Jughead’s voice and she prays that this doesn’t end in an antagonistic testosterone battle that gets the apartment ripped out from underneath them.

 

Archie stiffens, squaring his shoulders and narrowing his eyes. He’s always been defensive about his music. Years of high school mockery has made him prickly in ways she never expected Archie to be, but underneath it all is that soft tenderness and that bright charm she adores so much about him.

 

“I played drums for a while.”

 

This shocks both Betty and Archie, who stare at him like he has sprouted a second head and ask, “You did?”

 

Incredulously, Archie turns to Betty, like he’s been searching for another reason to suspect that this very fake relationship is, in fact, incredibly fake. It’s not exactly a vote of confidence for their believability when the human anti-lie detector isn’t completely convinced by the entire situation. “You didn’t know that?”

 

“We haven’t told each other everything! Besides, when would that ever come up? How long ago?”

 

“A few years,” Jughead answers in that way that makes her think it was a lot more than a few years. Demon and Human culture must have mingled more than she assumed. They interact so frequently maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise to imagine Hell full of 90s hair bands and little bars where they can play death metal on literal human organs. “I quit before we met.”

 

It’s the breakthrough she wanted. Archie’s shoulders relax and his eyes light up. “Maybe we could jam some time together? I mean your Betty’s boyfriend so we should get to know each other. And your Veronica’s brother.”

 

“I am ...certainly those things you just said.” Betty sends him a glare that has him rolling his eyes. “Yeah sure, man. As long as you promise to say nothing about my sister.”

 

“Deal! Maybe we keep girls completely off the table.” Archie grins, “Man, this’ll be so exciting. I haven’t gotten to jam with anyone in a while, especially not a drummer. My dad’s got an old kit back from his band days.”

 

Jughead nods once and turns to Betty, raising an eyebrow like he’s seeking her approval. Her chest swells with pride and she reaches out to take his hand. A soft squeeze lets him know he’s done well as she pops on his toes and whispers. “Thank you.”

 

He doesn’t say anything in response but she can see the way he almost preens at the praise like a little bird fluffing up their feathers after a nice bath. Their hands stay tangled together. He grounds her, calms her, keeps her remembering to breathe even with the anxiety if such an important decision weighing on her.

 

“Should we do it?” She asks Archie, biting her lip.

 

“Yeah! Yeah, totally, Betty. It’s great and we can manage it. It’s not far from either of our works and the neighbors seem cool. If not we can just like hit the ceiling with a broom to get them to quiet down or send your boyfriend to glower and be scary.”

 

This, compared to any other things, makes Jughead the happiest. “I’m not that scary.”

 

“I mean or we could send Veronica. Who I’m a little afraid of too. But in sort of a hot way.”

 

“Veronica is the least hot person to ever exist. You could throw her into a fiery inferno and she’d still be an icecap of a person.” Jughead’s voice lowers so only Betty can hear. “Trust me, I tried once.”

 

With some of the tension between the two boys dissipated, they can call in the woman and begin negotiations. The apartment won’t be ready to move in for two weeks, which is enough time to convince Alice that this is something she is completely feasible of doing even with her “multiple injuries” and Archie that having a third roommate would be all the better for them.

 

There are a lot of negotiations that have to take place and a promise that they’ll come back with their deposit within the week as well as all the papers signed. Betty feels positively giddy as they leave, ready to begin her transition into being her own person.

 

Or, well, as much of her own person as she can be when technically her soul is tied to an ethereal entity named Eve and the demon prince of Hell.

 

As they’re leaving, Archie picks up his phone and frowns, “Shit, I totally forgot I promised my dad I’d help him out today. Do you want me to drive you guys home first? It’s on the way.”

 

It’s a joke, of course, since he lives literally right next to her and has his entire life. Betty’s about to agree but Jughead quickly cuts in. “No, we’re fine. We were going to go for a walk and Betty was going to show me around Riverdale. We’ll call an Uber.”

 

Archie frowns and looks to Betty to confirm that is what she wants. There’s no going back unless she wants to make it even more glaringly obvious that things are not the absolute lovesick paradise they’re pretending they are. So she cuddles into Jughead’s arm and nods. “Yeah. I promised. It’s totally fine, Arch, don’t even worry about it. Worst case scenario, I’ll call Mom and she can come pick us up. Okay?”

 

There’s still some skepticism, but the time crunch has him throwing his things in his truck as quickly as he can. Before he leaves, he turns to Jughead and says, “Good luck with Alice Cooper. She still scares me. Sometimes I think she might be some kind of demon.”

 

To his credit, Jughead just laughs, waving goodbye to Archie. At least she doesn’t have to worry about them ripping each other’s heads off. Archie’s a people pleaser and he knows that making nice with her boyfriend will make Betty happy and she’s pretty sure Jug just doesn’t want to hear her endless bitching at him for continually threatening to behead her best friend for breathing in her direction. At a base level, she understands that he’s never had to share with anyone before. But then her feminism and self-reliance kicks in and she is furious at the very thought of being considered property. It’s a complicated two-step they’re stuck in, especially with fourteen unknown eyes watching their every move.

 

“What exactly do you plan on having us do? You can’t do your weird apparation thing anymore, can you?”

 

“I, what, no, what is that? It’s not called apparation, whatever you mean by that. And I can still travel within the border of Riverdale. I’m trapped here for the moment and while my powers are dulled, I’m still capable of some things. They didn’t make me completely useless. Mostly because they don’t want another demon pouncing on me and trying to rip Eve from your body, a process that would absolutely kill you, if not both of us at the moment.”

 

Betty gets a little sick to her stomach at that. “How likely do you think it is to have a demon come after us?”

 

“Well, it all depends on how well everyone does at keeping their mouths shut. Who knows with Veronica at the helm of the investigation. It might spread like wildfire or she might go around beheading anyone who steps out of line. Could go either way.”

 

She remembers the altercation her and Veronica got into the night they first met and hopes that maybe a demon might be more forgiving than they initially seem. Or she has enough loyalty to Jughead to keep things under wraps.

 

A gentle paranoia creeps up her spine as she looks around. In theory, anyone she passes by could be a demon who wants her dead or wants to take a piece of her for themselves. The thought doesn’t linger too long though because Jughead’s arms are wrapped tight around her and she’s lurching forward through space and time. It feels something like a snowglobe might, shaken until she feels sick to her stomach and the world goes hazy and black. When her feet contact solid ground again, Betty wants to throw up. This time she manages to keep it all in, gripping tightly to keep herself upright.

 

“You did better this time,” Jughead teases. “Good on you.”

 

Betty glares, feeling a lurch in her stomach again. “You have to get better about warning me. Maybe if I had a little of that, I wouldn’t get so sick. Where even are we?”

 

“The border of Riverdale and Greendale. I wanted to talk to you without prying ears.”

 

After a quick look around, Betty confirms to herself this is the truth. They’re just off the highway, surrounded by condensed forest, green trees encompassing everything. She can see the cracked dirt road a little ways away, which is a comfort even if she knew she couldn’t run very far away from him. The air is thick and fresh. Comforting.

 

“And where would prying ears be?”

 

“Well they’re everywhere, but this place has fewer of them. We’re nowhere near the portal to the Underworld, at least I don’t think so. I wanted to ask you something important.” He takes a deep breath, staring at her as he asks, with so much sincerity Betty is nearly taken aback, “Were we just on a date?”

 

She stares at him, blinking and apprehensive. “What?”

 

“A date. You mentioned wanting to go do things so we seemed more like a couple. A date would be that, right?”

 

Betty tries to imagine how Archie might react to know that he was a third wheel on a date no one knew was happening. It makes her laugh, that and the absurdity that the supposed prince of Hell drug her all the way to the border just to ask her if they had gone on a faux date to legitimize their faux relationship. She starts to giggle.

 

“What?” Jughead frowns, “Why are you laughing? It’s a question! Demons don’t do dates, how am I supposed to know what human dates look like? That’s what they do on those shows isn’t it? Except with big houses, not tiny three rooms.”

 

“Apartment versus mansion and I guess maybe this would be a date if Archie wasn’t here tagging along. Dates are a little bit more romantic. Usually ending in a kiss. Or there’s flowers. Or something like that.”

 

He pauses and Betty can’t help but feel the way his gaze lingers on her lips. Suddenly, she’s self-conscious, running the tip of her tongue along to ensure they’re not as chapped as she thinks they might be. Kissing would be awkward now, with the cast, but maybe she’d be willing to give it a try. Her breathing is coming out heavy as she imagines the way his lips would graze against hers, and Eve coils up tight near her chest.. The dream comes back to her at full force and with him standing here so close in her waking moments, it’s hard to think straight. When he takes a step closer, she thinks he might actually be about to kiss her.

 

But then, all he does is pull her close. It’s a nice feeling, like their bodies were meant to fit together so nicely, but it isn’t the fairytale kiss her mind was conjuring up a few minutes ago. “I’m going to do it again. The thing you hate. Where should we go?”

 

As disappointment deflates her, she thinks about telling him to take her home, so she can hide in the shower to avoid the mortification of all the things she was just thinking about a demon. But instead, she remembers the little sub shop not far from the border. Her stomach growls in anticipation and Jughead’s echoes.

 

“Follow my lead. I’ll show you what a real date is like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @tory-b


	6. The First Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell it is I! Updating in a timely manner at last! I do want to apologize though because this chapter is shorter than the others by about 1.5k words but I didn't want to jam it full of unnecessary things. It sits really well on it's own and I didn't want to spoil it by trying to do too much. I hope that's okay with you guys! THanks for all the support. I'm garbage at answering comments but I promise I'll get better. All the love in the world to @miss-eee, my wonderful sweet beta

Jughead can hardly believe what he’s walked into as Betty drags him through the Western-style double doors of what he can only accurately describe as a wannabe saloon of all things. He feels completely out of place next to all the drunken men and women wearing cowboy hats and plaid. Well, he is wearing plaid, but tennis shoes instead of boots make him stand out like a sore thumb. He looks to Betty, hoping this is some kind of strange joke she’s playing on him before taking him to where she actually wanted to go - somewhere like a cute little cafe that isn’t playing ridiculous music while a few people dance in sync and the others drunkenly stumble offbeat.

 

“Where the hell are we?”

 

She laughs at him so easily as she pulls off her signature pastel cardigan and wraps it around her waist. The overalls look cute on her curves and she actually fits in better than he does right now. Apartment shopping with Archie had been a vague form of torture, watching as he awkwardly shot glances their way and the realtor questioned their relationship arrangement. It took everything that was in him not to pin her to the wall and lick at her neck just to see her writhe underneath him and confirm that they were, in fact, bound together forever.

 

An overwhelming scent crashes around him and he can feel his veins crackling with renewed vigor. There’s so much gluttony here. Greedy mouths that guzzle down drinks and chips to satiate their drunken hunger. He feels alive for the first time since Veronica snapped her fingers and shackled him to all the power of a newborn demon.

 

“I used to come here all the time with Archie and a few other friends from high school. It’s the only place that allows you to be under eighteen and still dance. You get an X but, it’s not so bad. But now I’m 21 and I’ve been itching to come back and see if I can still remember the steps.”

 

Betty’s practically come alive under the neon glow of the club lights. It’s early enough in the day that there aren’t very many people here, only a few scattered around at tables and in the center of the room listening to the DJ’s song mix. She seems happy despite the obvious discomfort of her cast. Fingers twitch just slightly and on impulse, he reaches out and takes them.

 

“Your eyes…” She says softly, looking at him in surprise. Cautiously she reaches up with her good hand and touches them. “They’re completely black.”

 

Jughead winces and closes his eyes tight, trying to will the veneer of humanity to wash back over him. “Sorry. There’s just so much in here that it’s hard not to shift and sulk in the corner drinking it all in.”

 

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. If I had known this would be hard for you, we wouldn’t have come. I just love this place and-”

 

“No.” He stops her in her tracks. “You told me you were going to show me a real human date, didn’t you? Well if we leave now, that’s all ruined. I want you to show me, Betty. Show me.”

 

A delight fills her eyes that is so wonderful to see and soon enough she’s got them sat at one of the back tables, animatedly talking about what it is they’ll be doing (something called line dancing, which involves a lot of intricate steps that he’s not sure he’s well equipped in his human body to do) and how much she loves it. Apparently, her and Cheryl were frequenters of this before their awkward falling out. That is a story she doesn’t delve too much into but instead offers to share a story about how she was sure Cheryl charmed the bartender into giving them drinks one night.

 

“It was the first time I’ve ever been drunk,” she explains, laughing at the memory. “They weren’t even that strong. Just mimosas that he’d mixed up but I was tipsy and I started dancing with this guy. At the end of the night, they offer roses for a few dollars and the guys buy them for the girls or vice versa or whatever, as a way to ask if they can have the last dance with them. You can slow dance and it’s sort of like waltzing in a way. And that night Cheryl got like twenty roses from these guys and then one of the waitresses came up and asked her to dance and she said yes and it was really cute. I wonder if she ever got that girl’s number like she said she wanted to.”

 

Betty pauses in the middle of her story, shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m talking to much. I guess my question now is if she actually did charm the bartender. If that’s how magic works?”

 

“Her magic? Probably. Every witch is a little bit different.” Jughead shrugs and shovels the fries they had ordered a few minutes ago into his mouth. They’re warm and salty and they feel good on his tongue in the way that human food always does. It’s his favorite thing in the world. Except, maybe, for watching the way Betty’s eyes lit up whenever she told a story. “Truthfully I’ve only seen her use it once. She’s powerful so it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that she can manipulate emotions like that, or maybe it’s more implementing a suggestion. I told you witch magic comes from a long line of Nephilim? Well, Demons have the ability to shift mortal perspectives on certain things, peeling back inhibitions so people can fulfill their own desires.”

 

She looks at him with wide eyes, apparently absorbing everything he says. After he’s done, Betty let’s out a little sigh. “Will this get any less complicated?”

 

“Eventually you’ll get used to it. Or you’ll learn to stop asking questions.”

 

“Oh,” she leans back as her eyes flicker down to the space between them where the salt shaker is pressed a little too close to the ketchup bottle and speckles of pepper flakes coat the cracked wood. “Sorry.”

 

“No. No, I’m not trying to tell you not to ask questions. You’re allowed to ask as many as you want. I’ll always answer them.” He can feel his foot being shoved into his mouth and chooses to stop them for his own self-preservation.

 

After a moment of awkward silence, Jughead pushes the plastic red basket towards her, offering her some of the half-eaten fries. Dates probably don’t involve watching him gorge himself on food and the essence of human beings’ greed. But there’s such an excitement thrumming through his veins, it’s hard to feel anything other than an intense contentment, joy and excitement as he watches the way her eyes reflect the neon lights.

 

Much to his excitement, Betty turns him down, laughing as he shovels the remaining fries into his mouth. “Are you always so ravenous?”

 

“It comes with the territory of being born as a demon of gluttony. I’m never satisfied, always ravenous. I’ve got an insatiable appetite for just about everything.”

 

“Everything?” He can feel the kick of her heart, the subtle shift of her words, but the reason for it alludes him. Maybe she’s just excited to be dancing.

 

He dusts off his salty hands and offers her one of them. Betty wanted to dance, that was why she had brought him here, and Jughead was feeling invigorated enough to help her fulfill that dream. 

 

“Come on. If you’re going to teach me this bizarre human mating ritual, than we should get it over with.” He teases.

 

“It’s not a mating ritual!” Betty tries to defend but he can tell by the blush on her cheeks that he’s at least figured out her protests aren’t completely accurate. 

 

There’s a few men and women on the dance floor, tangled together as a slow song starts to play. Their feet are moving in ways that he can’t quite keep track of despite how hard he watches them. It’s like a waltz, maybe. An old couple is cuddled up close near the edge of the space and if he listens, he can hear them whispering sweet nothings to each other.

 

Jughead gestures to them. “If it’s not a mating ritual than what’s that.”

 

“Something called love, Jug; it’s not my fault you haven’t heard of it before.”

 

She stands quickly and offers her hands to him. For some reason, the gesture by itself feels insanely intimate with the slow song playing in the background. There’s a twang in the voice that’s grating enough so he tries to focus on that instead of just how soft Betty’s hands are. There’s calluses from working on engines and the pink tape on her arm cast rubs roughly against his palms.

 

It’s never really occurred to him before, but his nails are longer than hers, a perpetual sharp point at the end. Talons might be the appropriate word. He keeps his grip on her loose, so he doesn’t hurt her with them.

 

The closer they get to the dancing people, the more nervous he gets. Dancing is not something he has ever done before, or at least, not the kind of dancing that he’s sure Betty is used to. Demons don’t really dance unless they’re prowling amongst the humans waiting for a snack. But the night club scene exists mostly for lust or wrath demons. Jughead’s most comfortable place is hiding near the sidelines, setting up camp at the bar. Everyone here is going to think he’s a fool of a boyfriend and they wouldn’t even be wrong.

 

By the time they make it to the dance floor, the song has changed again, something more upbeat as people quickly form lines. Those like him who don’t know what they’re doing linger near the back and awkwardly two-step their way into each other. He feels like a moron, standing there and watching bodies flail. Betty is standing beside him, a little off balance but probably the best one in the room aside from the instructors near the front and floating pros who look like they have probably been doing this their whole life.

 

“Come on, Jug,” she laughs, her heels clicking against the ground as she spins to the left. She grabs his hand again and drags him with her. “Just follow my lead.”

 

“I look like an idiot.” He protests as he trips over his own feet again. He’s already clumsier in his human skin, jittery and awkward after weeks of being trapped. It wouldn’t surprise him if both of his feet were actually left ones at this point. “How are you doing this so fast? Why does everyone but me know what to do?”

 

“Practice! I told you Cheryl and I used to come here all the time together! It’s fun if you just let loose. You can do that can’t you, Prince of the Damned? They let you have fun in the great big underground don’t they?”

 

He thinks that his version of fun and hers might be vastly different in their definitions. Most of the time his fun nights involved rituatlistic torture on the condemned followed by a quiet night in the library where he studied up in hopes of being able to make his father proud during his next examination by The Seven. 

 

_ It was tradition, that the prince of Hell be given a series of tests throughout his lifetime to ensure he would be an acceptable replacement for the throne. He had only been given two so far - one by his mother, and one by Gluttony. The first he had passed just barely thanks to a ridiculously high grading standard but it had been enough to allow him to roam amongst the humans at last. He now wonders if he will ever get the chance to complete his other tests or if he’ll be grounded for the next two millennia _ .

 

“Sometimes,” Jughead answers vaguely, hoping she won’t press too much on the issue. “But even Hell doesn’t have this kind of torture.”

 

She bumps him lightly and goes back to her dancing. In the faint glow of the neon lights, he can see every freckle on her skin, the way it baths her in a brilliant glow, like stars glittering in the night. He wants to trace constellations and watch her shiver with big eyes trained on him, those pretty pink lips opened just enough that he can slip his tongue between them and--

 

Jughead shivers unsure if he’s horny because he’s horny, feeling some aftershocks of whatever might be going on in her mind, or if he’s just so out of control that he’s feeding off of the other people in the room, pressed so tightly together he doubts there’s any room left for the Jesus the song is currently singing about. He really hopes it isn’t the old couple near the front who keep putting their hands on each other between supposedly timed claps. Everyone is mostly offbeat but whether it’s the alcohol or just how tightly compact their bodies are, he isn’t sure.

 

When Betty turns to face him again, he can see she’s watching him with slightly hooded eyes. Those pink lips are parted so perfectly and he can hardly keep his mind on track.

 

_ Touch her. _ Something hisses in his mind.  _ Touch her, claim her, mark her. _

 

It’s the demon in him he’s sure, but every nerve ending in his body wants to drag her close to him and bite so hard into her neck that there will be scars there for eternity. Eve is hidden somewhere and he wishes he could will her to peek her head out and remind everyone around that she is spoken for. That she belongs to him.

 

Before he can act on fantasy, there’s a break in the music and suddenly he’s found himself being dragged away by an elderly woman he doesn’t recognize. She smells petrified, the way humans do as they get closer and closer to death. It’s really only noticeable to Reapers so they can make note if they’ll need to come back soon. He tries to pull back but she smiles up at him kindly and helps him kick his legs out. She’s teaching him, he realizes, and the sparkle in her eyes is nearly infectious.

 

So he doesn’t pull away like he wants to. Instead, he smiles back and tries to follow her lead, laughing when they both stumble or he kicks out the wrong leg. The sound her boots make against the hardwood floor makes him shiver in delight as she insists he spin for her. It’s a moment of levity he had not expected to experience with another human. It’s rare he interacts with them outside of soul collection and Sabrina, though being a witch he doubts she really counts.

 

Most of his life has been watching them from afar, behind the thin glass of a snowglobe he sometimes shakes too furiously. There’s a beauty in the way humans move with one another that he finds enthralling. The sins are mixed in the air, thick and difficult to make out as they mingle together, but amongst them he finds the refreshing bite of happiness, hope, joy and companionship as people twirl from partner to partner. He nearly forgets that Betty had been his partner at the start as a hulking man takes him by the arm and spins them in circles. It’s a surprise when he realizes that the laughter in the air doesn’t belong to anyone but him.

 

He ends up with the first woman again, who spins him around like a child.

 

“She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?” the woman asks, nearly out of breath from their dancing, but still she carries on with a smile on her lips. “She’s beautiful.”

 

Jughead looks to where Betty is, lost in a two-step with an elderly man who isn’t as quick on his feet. She’s got a smile that lights up the entire room and eyes that someone so could easily drown in.

 

“Yeah. She is.”

 

“You’re a lucky kind of guy. I remember my George and I had our first date here. He gave me one of those roses and I knew we were in it for the long hall. And we were. We’ve been dancing every Friday night for fifty years just about.”

 

For a human, that’s a long time, and he’s surprised by her story. “Congratulations,” it feels like the right thing to say, the kind of thing a normal human would say upon hearing that kind of thing. “You two seem really happy.”

 

“We are. Would you mind if I ask you something?”

 

“I think you just did but sure, of course. You’re keeping me from falling on my ass in front of everyone right now, so I think I owe you a question.”

 

She laughs at that, a sound that he would have found grating before but now finds utterly delightful when mixed with the softness in the air. “How long have you two been together?”

 

It is a tricky question to answer at least in a way that she would want. Their lie says a year, at least, but the truth of the matter is much more complicated than that. So he settles with something vague, but honest. “Not long enough.”

 

“It’s never going to be long enough. Not really. So just enjoy the days you have while you have them. Because eventually it’s all going to end and you never know where you’ll end up.” He wants to argue that he’ll be in Hell forever, that it’s his home and if this trial ends terribly, than he’ll be under lockdown until the next century. But he knows she’s attempting to impart wisdom on him and he can’t help but listen. “So just be happy while you have it.”

 

They dance for hours, until he thinks even his feet might be sore and the frivolity in the club starts to simmer from a vibrant buzz to a subtle hum. There’s so much energy coursing through his veins that at any moment he fears his human skin might rip asunder and chaos will erupt as everyone realizes a demon is standing amongst them.

 

“I’m going to get water,” Betty says nearly out of breath, “It’s time for the last dance. The rose one I told you about. I’ll meet you back here and then we can leave.”

 

“Of course. I’ll meet you back here.”

 

Even if distance makes him antsy, he can see the bar where she’s headed to pick up water and maybe another drink. He can feel the alcohol in her veins, practically taste the way it twists her stomach, feel the inhibition of innocence. It pours off of her in waves creating an intoxicating cloud that makes him hungry.

 

There’s a man near the back with a box of roses, handing them out for a few dollars just like Betty said he would be. Before he can even think it through Jughead plucks spare change from a nearby man stumbling with inebriation and finds himself in front of the sales associate. Nearly all of their stems have been clipped. A few of the roses hang limply to the side but there is one near the back of the box that catches his eye. A single thorn is still attached and one of the petals is curved awkwardly inward. There’s a strange kind of beauty in the oddity and without hesitation, he turns away with his prize in his hand to go find Betty.

 

Blood runs cold when he sees her pressed up against the bar. She looks uncomfortable and he can feel it too as she looks around at everything other than the man who’s standing a little too close, a rose outstretched towards her. Immediately Jughead feels anger tickle at his ears as his talons and teeth both sharpen in anticipation. There is nothing a demon hates more than having their things touched by others.

 

The closer he gets, the further his suspicions are confirmed. This is not a well-meaning boy with a crush, but instead a demon of lust who could no doubt taste her from across the room. He would be hypnotizing if Betty was not already tied so close to Jughead, but even then he can feel her push and pull as the demon attempts to influence her.

 

“Leave. Now.” His voice comes out thick like a growl as the room paints red and he fights back every instinct to lunge forward and rip the other demons throat out.

 

For a moment, the guy is angry, looking ready to fight for his claim with whatever demon is trying to interfere with his hunt, but when his eyes meet Jughead’s he jumps nearly three feet in the air. “It’s you.” He whispers, “I heard you were trapped on Earth because you’d done something illegal but, but...”

 

“But what? Wherever you’re getting your information, you should tell them to shut their mouths before I go back home and shut it for them. I said leave. Now. Before I rip off your hands. I’ve already staked my claim.”

 

“Aren’t you a Reaper now? Should you even be making human claims?”

 

Jughead’s eyes narrow and for a moment he thinks he might shed his human skin and murder this demon. But thankfully cooler heads prevail and he can feel Betty’s fingers threading through his hand. She plays her part beautifully, acting innocent to whatever it is their discussing. “Sorry. I told you I had a boyfriend. This is him. What’s all this stuff about Reapers, baby? I thought you said you were an accountant.”

 

“That’s just what we call each other in the business. Don’t worry your head about it. Now scram.”

 

The guy leaves, albeit likely still suspicious. He’s grateful for how quick Betty is on her feet but when he turns to express that she seems a little shaken.

 

“I wonder how many guys who’ve hit on me have been demons,” She says softly. “I wonder how many of them actually wanted to date me or just wanted to feed on me or whatever. It’s kind of sad right? That no one knows about it. That no one knows they’re being used.”

 

“They’re not always being used.” He explains. “It’s symbiotic sometimes. Mostly demons don’t come for you unless they can tell you want something that they can give. If someone wants a one night stand, then where’s the harm in a lust demon getting his fill while their partner gets satisfied. Demons aren’t as evil as the world wants to make us seem, Betty. There’s a place and a purpose for everyone. If we didn’t exist, then can you even claim to be good? To know what’s right? Or is everything right because nothing is wrong. No one’s going to Hell for sleeping with a demon they don’t know is one. Angels do the same thing with positive emotions but you never see them being put on judgement for it. And if a human makes a deal with a demon isn’t that on them more than us? You don’t have to say yes to the offer, and lots of people don’t. But the ones who say yes are the ones you hear about, horror stories about being tricked by some malevolent entity. It just doesn’t seem fair. Of course, there are rotten demons, the same as there are rotten humans. But there are punishments for them too, for breaking rules that exist to keep the universe in balance. We’re more like you than the angels are. You’ve never met an angel. They’re hardly human, just glittering pictures of perfection. At least I can admit my faults. Just because I revel in them doesn’t make me a man to be condemned.”

 

Jughead has never appreciated the forced dichotomy that humans view demons and angels with. There is a complex symphony at work that even he does not fully understand. He wonders if it was that kind of view that drove Jellybean away.

 

She’s quiet for a moment, before she finally nods. “Without Hell, there can be no Heaven. I hadn’t thought about it like that before.”

 

“Most people don’t. They take what they’ve been told at face value and ignore everything else. It’s just some food for thought.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway, I got you this. I figured if I’m going to keep pretending to be your boyfriend I should do a better job at it.”

 

Betty looks at the rose with wide eyes for long enough to make him uncomfortable. He wants to reach out and snatch it back before hiding under one of the tables to keep himself from feeling this strange mixture of embarrassment and doubt. He had assumed that mentioning the rose before had been a hint to him that perhaps it was something she had always wanted. But the way she fingers the petals now has created an uneasy stir in the pit of his stomach as he braces for rejection.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Betty says so softly that for a moment he thinks he might have misheard her. But then she’s smiling up at him and his legs feel like jelly as she pulls it close enough to sniff. “Thank you. I didn’t think -- oh, ouch! I guess it still had a thorn on it.”

 

The prick hurts him enough to make him wince but already he can feel the skin stitching back together. Still, he reaches out and pulls her hand close, pressing a gentle kiss against the split skin. His tongue flicks out to taste the blood that still lingers on her skin and immediately it’s like reaching Nirvana. She tastes like sin and sugar.

 

“Oh,” she says again, one little noise that makes him shiver. Her breath is labored, pupils blown so wide he can hardly see the green of her eyes as her hand falls back down between them. “You didn’t have to do that. I thought it would heal immediately anyway.”

 

“It did.”

 

He won’t say anything more on it though he suspects that’s mostly out of pride than mystery. She looks delighted as he snaps the thorn off and tucks the flower between her ear. Hopefully, it won’t get lost while they’re dancing. If she even wants to dance with him after nearly punting another demon into the next dimension and turning a happy night out into a bloodbath.

 

“That demon was afraid of you. Even with your powers muffled because of what Veronica did.”

 

“I’m sure I smell different,” Jughead explains, “weaker, but I bet I could still beat him in a fight. Besides, for all he knows I’m not muffled right now. No one is supposed to know what’s happening while The Seven deliberate and have Veronica watch me. I’m sure there’s rumors, in fact, you heard there are, but no one is sure of the validity of them and I doubt my father would be willing to make a statement about his own son being confined to Earth because he conducted an illegal ritual. That would be terrible for his poll numbers.”

 

“Wait! Wait I thought the King of Hell thing was a genetic privilege like being Queen of England. You get it passed down in generations but now you’re telling me you vote on it? Like some democratic nation? And poll numbers matter? What? In case there’s not enough water torture happening they can let him know?”

 

Jughead couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered she seemed. He pulled her onto the dance floor and leaned in close. “I was teasing. Calm down.”

 

“I can never tell with you.”

 

She huffs but finally loosens up a bit as the song starts to play. It’s the last one of the night and the partners he had seen dancing from before are back together. The older woman who had helped guide him is standing a little ways off with her husband as they step in time to the music. He watches her and tries to mimic the way her legs move. Once or twice he steps on Betty’s toes but she doesn’t say anything, all the while smiling.

 

“You’re good at this,” he says after a moment, rocking out of the way to keep from hurting her again.

 

“I told you. We used to come here all the time. And this was my favorite part, even if most of the time Cheryl and I ended up dancing together. She was always good about making sure I didn’t feel left out. I miss how she used to be.”

 

Jughead can feel the demon from earlier’s eyes on them. He’s watching from afar, jealous, practically seething at being knocked from his prize. So Jughead pulls her a little closer, even if it messes up with their timing as they spin around and around the edge of the dance floor.

 

“You’re getting better at this,” she says again, barely able to be heard above the music. “I’m surprised. You must have had a good teacher.”

 

“She was. So are you.”

 

Her hands move up to where his hair is, playing gently with the curls. There’s a smile on her that he could so easily get addicted to. He feels her hands gently graze the small protrusions of his horns. They’re smaller than they would be if he let his mask fall but still her touch lingers, curiously running along the ridges.

 

“They’re hidden in your hair. The horns. Are they always this small?”

 

Jughead scoffs, almost offended by the notion. “They are not small. In my glamour they are but without it they’re impressive. My horns are amazing. Everyone thinks so.”

 

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your horns were linked to fragile masculinity.” She teased.

 

“I’d like to see you try and tell Veronica she has small horns.”

 

From the edge of her shirt, he can see Eve’s head poking out, slowly coiling up to wrap around her neck. He doubts anyone is paying attention enough to notice the moving tattoo but it delights him to see his friend encouraging him. He can tell by the way she twists just a bit that wherever Eve goes is sensitive. With a mischievous grin, Jughead leans down and presses a soft kiss against her Eve’s scaled head.

  
The effect is instant  as Betty twists in his arms. Her eyes go wide and a smile dances on her lips as she squeals in delight. “Jughead! Don’t do that!”

 

No one else can hear them. It’s like being lost in paradise as everything else in the background fades to white noise. The stretch of his skin tells him that he hasn’t stopped grinning.

 

“Don’t do what?” he teases, pressing another kiss there, “Don’t do that?”

 

She wiggles in his arms, arms finding their way around his neck, far from the proper way that everyone else is holding each other. He loves the way she feels like this. It’s comforting to have her right here. Safe.

 

Her eyes flicker up and he can feel the way her heartbeat quickens in her chest as her gaze traces along the curve of his lips. She stretches her neck forward just enough that he can feel her breath mingling with his. For an instant, his resolve wavers and he yearns to capture her lips and mark her here in front of everyone else. But he knows that there is someone watching and should news of that travel back home, he fears for what might happen to Betty. To bond with a human is illegal, to fall in love with one a death sentence.

 

“I would destroy you,” he whispers softly against her skin, inhaling the sweet mix of vanilla and peach that always lingers off of her as he averts his lips to rest against her head.

 

She’s quiet for a moment, her head falling into the crook of his neck. When she finally speaks again, he can barely make out what she’s saying. “I think I’m already ruined.”


	7. The Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it's been awhile and for that I'm incredibly sorry. I'll admit to you that I lost a lot of my motivation for writing for a bit of time there. I've been struggling with writers block and really trying to get my muse. And then I had to get all four of my wisdom teeth knocked out so there happened. But hopefully I'll be okay now. Fingers crossed.
> 
> In other news, this fic has a chapter count now! I finally finished ironing out my outline enough to confidently say that they'll be a total of 12 chapters! Which means we are officially a little over halfway through! woohoo! Thanks for sticking with me and I really hope I can get back to somewhat regular updates. I'm forever grateful that you guys have stuck around with me and extremely apologetic that I suck. I hope you can forgive me <3

In the darkness of Thornhill Manor, Cheryl Blossom sits in the foyer, surrounded by candles that burn with an intense rose fragrance. The rug with her parent’s blood staining it has been thrown away and burned now that the investigation has been officially closed by the insufferably baffoon-ish sheriff's department. Jason is upstairs resting, as he should be. He’s been resting for a few months now, regaining his strength, his energy, and his mind. There are so many horrors their parents had been key participants in that it’s been hard to swallow on the best of days. Cheryl’s always had a better constitution than her brother when it comes to the horrors of her family. He’s a delicate sensible soul and she feels no fear in the midst of the cutthroat shareholders circling their home like vultures. It takes every bit of goodness in her not to hex them all to leave them be.

 

But there’s already something suspicious in Riverdale and whatever entities are snooping around don’t need to be made aware of her magics. The Blossoms until her parents, had done an excellent job keeping their powers hidden. Nana Rose had died with her secret known only by a few close family members. And then Penelope and Clifford Blossom had to go messing around with demons just to get a few more millions in the bank. It makes Cheryl sick to her stomach just thinking about making deals with inferior abominations like the nightmare creations from hell. Even just catching the hint of a demon anywhere near her makes her insides twist and burn.

 

Which is why she’s so surprised when she hears whispers in the void about her former best friend meddling in affairs no mortals should ever step foot into. It frightens her, makes her fearful of what perpetually sweet Betty could have accidentally stumbled upon to make her stink so terribly.

 

Cheryl grabs a few of the dried rose petals from the bowl beside her and crushes them in a tight fist before throwing them into the middle of her spell circle. The fire crackles with excitement, feeding on the energy before bursting to life with fluorescent shades of reds and yellows. She watches carefully as the flames take shape.

 

She sees a woman lying down, battered and broken, likely clinging tightly to the last threads of her life. A figure slithers out from the shadows, black as night, twisting around the body until it writhes with new energy. The snake slowly transforms into a man with wings that stretch well beyond the border of her spell. They’re dancing, growing larger and larger until whatever music they’re listening to dies. They dance on just the same. Just as the magic is about to fade, Cheryl hears a scream come from the woman before she and her lover as consumed by flames, his body perched above her in a disgusting embrace.

 

All the candles extinguish at once and she is left alone in the darkness of her mind. Her bones are chilled with the knowledge that she’s been given. They may not be close now, but once upon a time, she had called Betty Cooper her best friend in the world. They were on top of the pyramid together, laughing through high school with shopping sprees and long drives in Cheryl’s convertible. There were many days she missed her companionship but this was not a fracture that would be mended so easily. Not after all the pain her family had caused the Coopers.

 

There is the gentle creek of the old mansion’s bones as someone walks along the wooden floorboards with bare feet. She always hears her brother, feels him, before she sees him. He’s been recovering well, even in the aftermath of their night of horror. Sometimes she feels frustration that her supposed high school best friend never called upon hearing that Cheryl’s father and mother had attempted murder on her twin, but then again, Betty was laid in the hospital, being manipulated by demons.

 

“You’re doing magic, Cher,” his voice is quiet though she knows he is attempting to guilt her. She had promised to limit magic use around him to help ease him back into a normal feeling world. Magic had destroyed their family, killed their parents. It was no surprise Jason looked upon it with caution.

 

But for her, magic has always meant power, meant a deep connection with not only the earth but her lineage as the Blossom. Powerful witches for generations, dating far beyond Nana Blossom, who had taught her simple spells in the safety of Thistle house while her parents knowingly cavorted with wickedness. To her, it has always been a gift. To Jason, it is a curse.

 

“Just some routine scrying, JayJay, don’t worry about it.” She offers him a brilliant grin, but that was not enough to comfort him. “I just was checking on Betty. I heard rumors she’s gotten herself mixed up with a demon and I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

 

“And is she?”

 

Cheryl bites the inside of her jaw hard enough to taste blood. This is not something he needs to worry about. “As always, I’m worried over nothing and she’s just the same mess she was in high school. I never did offer her a get well gift and since we’re the only two remaining Blossoms, I can’t tarnish our reputation more by forgetting to send pity to the misfortunate. Mother and Father certainly tried to make us the laughing stock of Riverdale but I won’t allow it. Stay home and rest today. I’ll handle all this political business.”

 

It looks like he wants to argue, but she shakes her head and kisses her brother’s cheek, patting his head. “No arguments, JayJay. Rest. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

 

She’s not sure how entirely true that is as she revs up her cherry red convertible and turns on a station that’ll help her relax a little bit more. She wants to make sure her former best friend hasn’t gone completely over her head, so she goes in the way that she feels, knowing that her instincts have never been wrong. Her car stops in front of a little bookstore that just popped up in town. It’s the kitschy kind of place that she knows Betty always loved.

 

One deep breath in and she can smell the demons, see his strange gray aura seething near the back. He must be a powerful demon, someone strong, to be able to manipulate someone with such a pure heart as Betty. It’s enough to make her sick to her stomach and her fingers itch with a hex she hasn’t used in a long time. They don’t typically work on demons to the same extent they do on humans but just watching him squirm for a few minutes might be worth it. Cheryl steals herself and opens the door, ready to fight.

 

* * *

 

The last person Betty ever expected to run into was Cheryl Blossom, the apparent witch of Riverdale. According to Archie, neither of the twins had left their homes since the night of her accident, Jason’s attempted drowning, and Clifford and Penelope’s attempted murder. Maybe she should have reached out, offered her condolences to a former friend, but there are old wounds that she hasn’t wanted to open, a friendship left in shambles for reasons she never fully understood.

 

Her and Jughead had gone to a bookstore in hopes of keeping him out of the house long enough to avoid another wracking over the coals from her always intense mother. They had started to pack some of her things for the eventual move into the new apartment, but there were still a few more inspections that needed to be done, and there was only so long of her mother’s nagging that Betty could handle before she contemplated throwing herself out her second-story bedroom window. So here they were, at one of the first shops to open up in Riverdale in the last decade.

 

The place has a surprising amount of business for not being one of the expected stables of small town living. No doubt it was because it brought a little character into the everyones ever dull existence, housing an oddity of books that even the library didn’t have. Aside from just escaping the Cooper residence, Betty is also here because supposedly the entire Nancy Drew collection lies within these walls. She’s found a few of them littered around, mostly the ones she already has, but at least there’s enough to fill out some of her collection.

 

Jughead is entertained by a wide variety of human things, she’s slowly learning. It’s sweet in a lot of ways to see him flip through every page of a cookbook and then stuff it in the shelf as he pulls out a comic. He keeps coming up to her and asking her opinion like he’s some sort of demonic toddler. Occasionally he’s tossed a few of them in her basket, promising that he’ll read them as long as she would please buy them for him. It’s endearing enough that she can’t say no even if she does glare a little bit and turn away. Right now, he’s sitting in one of the oversized chairs, open crime novels scattered around him. He’s taken a real liking to Capote and she doesn’t have the heart to take them away from the relative peace and quiet of the bookstore.

 

During these moments, Betty can’t help but think about how handsome he is. After their little heart to heart during line dancing, they haven’t talked much about the feelings that have been slowly cultivating beneath the surface of her heart, bubbling in her veins. It has been difficult not to let her gaze linger, to watch the way he moves about the world like a curious cat on the prowl for something.

 

His hair is fluffed underneath the beanie he always wears, flipping through the pages with speed and precision. She wonders if demons can read quicker than humans or if that is something unique to him like so many other quirks. His long nails never seem to hinder any movement he makes, but suddenly, she feels a gentle slice in her finger. They look down at the same time, but the papercut heals before she can really see how deep it runs. It’s like he can feel her watching him because for a moment, his eyes trail up her body and he gives her a soft wave. Warmth radiates right where Eve has nestled up underneath her sweater and she waves back before turning to her books. She can’t keep watching him like this. Not when he’s made it clear that the possibility of them is so minimal.

 

It’s while she’s checking through the books in her cart that Cheryl comes in looking like the kind of woman on a mission. She wants to be surprised when those dark eyes fall right on her frame, but then again, it really shouldn’t be a surprise. It was only a matter of time until that witch realized that Betty had infiltrated the world she tried so hard to keep her away from. And once Cheryl got a taste of something, she was not quick to let it go.

 

“Betty! Such a surprise to see you here,” Cheryl flashes her with that effervescent grin, that kind that everyone who was about to be booted from the cheer squad. “A pleasant one. I haven’t really been able to express how excited I was to learn that you didn’t perish in a tragic motor vehicle accident. Hopefully, you can forgive me since I’ve been dealing with the drama of my parents attempting filicide on my brother. How are you?”

 

She’s nearly taken aback by how kind her former best friend is being, but she tries not to be suspicious and take it at face value. “Hey, Cher. Thanks. I’m doing okay now. Everything’s healing up the way it should.” And then some, but that she won’t mention. “My boyfriend even came down to make sure I was okay. How are you holding up?”

 

Her eyes narrow. “Boyfriend? Charming. Is he here with you now?”

 

Cheryl makes it a point to look around, dodging around Betty when she frantically tries to put her body between her former best friend’s hound dog personality and the demon sitting only a few feet away. Panic tangles in her gut and she starts to shake. The urge to protect all but consumes her, starting right at the patch in her heart and spreading like wildfire along the path of her veins. She doesn’t know if witches can sense demons the way demons can sense witches but there’s enough worry keeping her between them. She wonders if Jughead can feel the panic setting in.

 

“He’s sitting over there reading. Why does it suddenly matter to you, Cheryl? Last time I checked, we weren’t friends.”

 

The girl stiffened visibly shaken by Betty’s words. Her eyes looked anywhere but forward, darting around to glance at bookshelves and passerby’s, possibly even glancing at a few coffee orders just to keep her mind distracted. Their falling out had not been some spectacular battle of wills that they had both lost. Instead of a bang, their friendship ended with an all but silent whimper. Unanswered calls turned to unanswered texts as plans fell through and nights became all but drowning in their loneliness.

 

Cheryl had chosen to stay in Riverdale for reasons Betty was sure she now understood, reasons of the supernatural variety, a world she had previously no concept of. And well, for her part, college was time-consuming. Archie was the only person she had truly kept in touch with the way they had promised each other in their yearbooks. She wondered when empty promises had turned to lies.

 

The moment she knew their friendship was over was the night she had received one simple text. It was vague, dramatic, like all things Cheryl liked to tangle herself in. She had simply sent  _ I’m sorry  _ and every message Betty sent after that was purposefully left on read. At the time, it had stung so bitterly that petty vengeance seemed the only way out. She posted picture after picture of her new friends, her sorority sisters, even a few times of her teaching them cheerleading moves. It felt silly now, to cut so deep to someone she still cared so much for.

 

“Listen closely because I will only speak so plainly once. What I did to you was cruel, but at the time, I believed it to be the only correct thing. I’m sure you have been made privy to my family’s less than legal business practices, and the unethical things they participated in, never mind attempting to murder my JayJay in cold blood. When I first learned of their horrors, I had hoped to change things for the better, but I knew that anyone close to me would be subjected to their tortures, and so, with a heavy heart, I cut ties with the person I had considered to be my dearest friend. I assure you, there was no ill will intended and I am sorry it took me so long to be forthright with my mistakes.”

 

The admittance surprises Betty, who nearly stumbles back as the heavy weight of Cheryl’s words hit her hard. As kind as the thought is, the gesture itself too, she can’t help but think bitterly to the steady descent of their friendship. If only there had been an honesty, a communication. It made her sick to her stomach to think about all the lies. It calls in to question much of their friendship. Just as she was about to tell Cheryl to go, Betty feels the little flutter of Eve’s presence, a light warmth wrapping her in a tight and gentle embrace. It felt like someone had pulled a start from the sky and placed it in her heart. There it blossoms until she knew without a doubt that to forgive would make her the bigger person. Perhaps, with time, there would be a chance to mend what had been broken.

 

“Thank you, Cheryl, for admitting the truth to me. I wish things had worked out differently but I appreciate that you were trying to protect me.” She reaches out and gives her a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. Those signature red clothes are still as soft as ever, expensive beyond belief, no doubt made of silk or cashmere. At least there are some things that would never change.

 

Cheryl offers her a curt nod, obviously made uncomfortable by the somewhat emotional reunion in such a public place. “Well then, Betty dear, why don’t you properly acquaint me to your boyfriend. No harm in attempting to make up for lost time, don’t you think?”

 

Yet with all the love in her heart, Betty feels uncomfortable with such a request. It was Jughead who had reaped Penelope and Clifford’s souls. Immediately that would put a black mark on whatever relationship could be between Cheryl and him. It is fear that keeps her from agreeing, but  in moments like these, she knew to trust her gut.

 

“I know what you are, Cher. So please, try and respect when I tell you that I don’t want you to bother him.”

 

“Oh? And what am I, Betty dearest, other than a former river Vixen and current heir to the Blossom throne?” She speaks coyly, looking down on Betty like she was a fool to even suggest that there was anything out of the ordinary. She prepares herself for the onslaught. If there was anything she remembers about her former best friend, it was how vile she could get when she was feeling cornered or angry. Cheryl Blossom is a mongoose and there is no chance she would let Jughead or herself be the snake.

 

“A-A witch.”

 

Where had all her confidence gone so suddenly. It’s nearly suffocating to be fitted under Cheryl’s gaze. Was this the work of magic or of the general Blossom ability to frighten people into submission. Still, she stands strong even under those brown eyes that know how to level buildings. She knows she’s won the first battle when Cheryl deigns to answer her. “I think you misspoke. I’m a bitch, not a witch.”

 

“Don’t lie to me anymore. Please. We both know that I know what’s happening. That I’m right. I don’t want to argue with you about this in a public place. All I’m asking you is to leave me and my business alone. Please. I didn’t come running after you when you ran to hide with your Gothic coven or something.”

 

“Oh. Oh, so you know then. You know that your so-called boyfriend is an abomination masquerading as a man. That underneath that horribly dingy hobo-ish outfit is a literal demon. He reeks of gluttony and rot and I bet if he shed his scales in front of you, he’d no doubt drown you in brimstone.”

 

Betty stands a little taller and shakes her head. “You’re wrong. That’s not who he is. Maybe that’s not his real form, but he’s not some monster fooling people. He’s a good man.”

 

“He isn’t a man, Betty! He’s the Prince of Hell. You know what that means don’t you? Eternal damnation. Torture. My parents played around with demons and look where it got them, murderous nut jobs with a taste for human blood and the desire to feast upon their young. Is that the kind of person you want to be, because last I checked I wasn’t. But perhaps you’ve changed significantly in the short time I’ve been gone from your life. Tell me, how does it feel to have a demon penetrate you. I certainly hope it’s worth an eternity of torture and misery with none of your friends and family around while a demon laughs in your face about how stupid you were to believe in him.”

 

Her words cut Betty right down to her core, piercing every insecurity she’s had since the start of whatever game her and Jughead had begun to play.  _ I would destroy you.  _ For a moment, she believes them both. Perhaps if she’s with a witch, she can be protected by whatever dark magic has made her a vessel for demonic pursuits. Even as Eve protests, writhing in her stomach, she fights through to hear what her heart is saying, what she feels the answer to be.

 

Peering back, she sees Jughead fighting with the pages of a book, frustrated by the thinness of the paper he’s apparently ripped. He coaxes it between his fingers and like magic the fractured front is fixed. He beams down at the cover and slides it back in the bookshelf exactly where it goes before more delicately picking up the next book that has caught his fancy. His favorites are the true crime novels, complex works of reality that paint the scene of the modern-day world. There’s such a unique kindness in his eyes. She’s even seen it in his heart the few times he’s allowed her a glimpse, to drink from the well of his soul.

 

If the waters are poisonous then so be it. If this water rot her then let it. If this water drown her then may it claim her soul at the depths of the ocean. Her death will be a welcome one, for he has given her many more days than she was ever supposed to have. If her death be at the hands of a demon with the gentlest of heart than she will lie by his side and bask in the sweetness of his embrace as he carries her down to Hell.

 

“You’ve always been like this. I shouldn’t have expected anything different,” her voice starts steady, but slowly, the rage builds. “You always judge people by where they’re from or what stories proceed them. Isn’t that why we became friends? So you could ‘ruin good girl Betty Cooper?’ I remember that’s what you told me once, when I asked you why you tried so hard to get me on the squad. You’re a hypocrite, Cheryl. So witches in glass bottles are throwing stones, or whatever?”

 

She huffs, prickling up, immediately on the defensive. She’s never taken kindly to insults and Betty has thrown everything right where it hurts. “Don’t you dare compare me to that creature. I would never use you the way he is, for a little fun.”

 

“Didn’t you, though? Didn’t you use me to get Jason an in with Polly? And then you kept me around because you liked me, only to leave me high and dry after Jason and Polly broke up and my sister went catatonic! My life fell apart because we let you in it, so don’t go pointing fingers at other people. I made the choice to let you into my life just like I’m making the choice to have him.”

 

“That isn’t the same! You knew I cared about you beyond whatever silly things were happening with Jason and Polly.”

 

“And I know he does too. Maybe this thing happened out of convenience but now it’s so much more than that. It means something.”

 

“And what exactly, does it mean?” Cheryl bites.

 

Betty pauses, deflating only slightly, but not from the pain of not knowing where she and Jughead stand, but from the loss of something she once held so dear. “I don’t know what it means. But I don’t know what we mean either, Cheryl. So it’s sort of a moot point, don’t you think.”

 

“He’s lying to you!” She tries again, frustration obvious in her features. She’s moving with desperation now as she reaches her clawed hands for Betty and grabs tightly to the cuff of her sweater. It’s warm and tight and smells so much like Jughead, who’s slipped it on a few days earlier on accident and decided to prance around the house in it. It had been too short and his midriff had been exposed nearly the entire day. Sometimes there was such an innocence to him it was hard to believe he was spawned from the very pits of hell.

 

“So? You lied to me too. Tell me, what happened with Polly and Jason, Cheryl? Why did my sister have to go to a psych ward? Does it have something to do with your family’s magic you decided not to tell me the truth?” When she’s met with silence, Betty nods. “Right. I thought so. Even now, you’re lying to me. I called you my sister and you lied to me. At least with him, the chips are right on the table. He has never kept from me that he is the son of the devil and has weird magical powers. Everything between us is as transparent as it can be. What’s your excuse then?”

 

They stand there for what feels like days, watching each other with heavy hearts and teary eyes. After a moment, Cheryl turns away and Betty thinks she sees a single tear run down the tip of her finger, but too soon it’s flicked to the side and she’s met again with the recognizable stone face of a Blossom. There’s a surprising tenderness in her eyes as she speaks.

 

“I am sorry that I ever hurt you how I did. There are plenty of things I suppose need some reevaluation. Keep seeing your demon. You know my thoughts but I’ll respect your wishes. Just head my words now, Elizabeth, because without them, you may find yourself in trouble. The Queen of Hell will not take kindly to the knowledge that her only son and heir has been fraternizing with a human. If she finds out he’s developed feelings  you are as good as dead and he as good as crushed under the stifling hand of that monster he calls mother. If you thought Penelope was a wicked woman, you will not last a moment in Gladys’ presence. If you won’t take my protection, than I at least trust you not to act so foolishly that you perish before your time. Your second time.”

 

The words rattle her and yet Betty appreciates them. If the last thing Cheryl can offer is a warning, than it is one she will gladly take. She knows from Jughead’s warnings that not every demon is as kind as him or as restrained as Veronica. They are demons after all and there is an inherent hunger that lurks in their very hearts.

 

“Thank you. For the warning. I’ll think about it. Take care of yourself, Cheryl.”

 

She turns away with purpose and begins carefully looking through the cart again, pulling out books she knows Jughead won’t read but keeping the ones he insisted would be his favorites. There’s one about the 1950s that confuses her and just as she’s about to set it aside for further conversation, she hears the storefront’s little bell ring a few feet away signaling Cheryl’s retreat. When the door closes with a hollow thud, her heart crashes right into her stomach. The end of it all is upon her.

 

“Betty. I have made a horrible mistake.” Her ears perk up when she hears his voice. Looking over, she sees Jughead in a pile of books of his own creation. Part of him looks satisfied, but the other deeply disturbed by the knowledge that if he needed to breathe it would be an absolute problem right now.

 

Or maybe, the world has really just begun.

 

“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes. It’s like Hell gave me a cat.”

 

“I fail to see the problem. Cats are wonderful. Ask Sabrina.”

 

After she saves him from the aftermath of the great book collapse, they purchase what he’s managed to convince her is absolutely vital to his understanding of human society. There are a lot more books than she had anticipated, but those sweet eyes of his really come in handy when he wants them to. It’s like he knows she can’t deny him when he looks so sweet. He really is a cat, she decides. Maybe that’s what she’ll dress him up as for Halloween.

 

Betty pauses then as she unloads the books onto the counter. Halloween. None of her other boyfriends have ever caused her to think so far ahead, so many months in the future, but with him she can see it. As strange as it sounds, she can hear him berating her about the inaccuracy of the costumes as children march past their apartment door asking for candy. Archie is out, no doubt drinking or playing at a bar so it’s just the two of them on trick-or-treating duty. Jughead will complain about not being able to eat enough and she’ll cave and fill up a little sack just for him. He’ll sit on the couch and eat it while replaying horror movies he insists he has never seen just because he knows they’re her favorites. Again she feels that strange radiation of warmth. Again, she hears his words echo.  _ I would destroy you. _

 

_ What an idiot _ . She thinks as she sets the books aside and goes to grab herself a glass of orange juice.  _ What an absolute moron. _

 

Perhaps all men are simply blind to the impact of their affections, to the twisting of her heart so firmly around his. She looks down to Eve who is now situated snaked up to rest her head on Betty’s open palm, like she aches to take a drink of the sweet orange nectar. Betty giggles and presses a soft kiss to her head.

 

“Tell me, Eve, has he always been so stupid and oblivious?”

 

While there is no verbal reply, she certainly leaves the situation feeling like the answer is unequivocally yes. She pours herself a glass of juice and then one for Jughead when he inevitably complains about not having any even though she offered it to him before she took the time to grab glasses in the kitchen.

 

Today they are finally doing something he has been promising her for weeks. It’s all set out on the dining room table: nail polish, files, top coats and little vinyls. She’s utterly delighted in the thought of painting those long fingernails of his.

 

Most of her life, Betty’s nails have been short. Nerves often cause her to bite them down until they bleed and now they hardly ever grow the way they’re supposed to. She knows Jughead refuses to have nail clippers put anywhere near him but she’s hoping that a file will be a little less intimidating.

 

“Is this necessary?” He asks as she brings the little pink grit against the sharp point. She isn’t rounding them at his request but she wants to buff them enough that the polish sticks on properly. “I don’t like how it feels. Besides, demon nails are meant for clawing.”

 

“I get the feeling demon nails aren’t really for painting either and yet here we are.”

 

Jughead smiles her way, “Ah. Touche. You’ve got me there, Cooper. I can’t help it. I see these women and these men walking around with these colors on there. And the jewels? Why do you need that! The opulence! I bet if Veronica knew about it, she would be quaking. They’re completely impractical and I want them.”

 

“Well, I can’t give you nail jewels but I can paint them for you. What color were you thinking, purple, black, or red?”

 

“I only get to choose one? That doesn’t seem fair. You have all three!”

 

“But that’s not how it works. You’re supposed to make a look out of it, Jug,” she laughs and pulls out the bottles. “How about we do black and I’ll add a holo topcoat on it?”

 

“I have absolutely no fucking idea what that means but I agree with it.”

 

“Good plan, Jug, I respect it.”

 

She starts painting his nails, being delicate with a part of his body she knows he isn’t used to having touched. She learns so much. The area around his nails are much more sensitive than hers. It’s like he can feel every fiber on the brush and sometimes it makes his fingers twitch. There’s a slight natural irredescent to his nails that she finds utterly fascinating. It shines even through the heavy layers of deep purple she paints on.

 

When the last layer is dried she pulls out the glitter of her topcoat and drags it along the nails. He watches her with deep fascination while she does this part. It feels good to have him watching her so intently and a tickle trails up her spine.

 

“So, is this where we gossip like they do in those movies?”

 

Betty laughs, “What exactly do we have to gossip about? Veronica and Archie?”

 

“No thanks. I ate a really good breakfast this morning and I don’t want to throw it up. We could talk about the scuffle you and the witch had earlier today in the bookstore.”

 

She stiffens and nearly drags the brush across his knuckles. “You saw that?”

 

“Not to alarm you, Betty, but I thought we had established that there’s not much we can do without the other feeling it. I could tell you were in distress and so I looked over and saw you talking with her. As much as I wanted to, I figured it wasn’t my place to intervene. I didn’t want to make things worse than they were.”

 

“Nothing really happened that you need to worry about. We just had an argument about the past. I know that she knows what happened with Polly and the fact that she won’t tell me is hurtful. I trusted her for so long, put so much faith in her as a captain, as a friend, as a sister, and she cut me off so quickly. I thought I’d done something wrong, made a mistake somewhere along the way but I guess it wasn’t as simple as that.”

 

He hums, nodding along with her words as he watches her continue to pain. “Well, at the risk of sounding like an old man, I’ve figured out that nothing is ever as simple as it seems like. There are a lot of layers to situations that aren’t always obvious at first glance. She didn’t hurt you, right?”

 

“Not physically. Emotionally there’s a few scars.” With a gentle, sad smile, she gently twists the cap back onto the bottle. Her throat tightens and she tries to bite back the tears.

 

“Hey. Don’t cry. I promise everything is going to work out in the end, alright? Even if it takes a long time to get there.” He reached out and pressed a hand against her cheek. Betty could feel his nails trace along her scalp in the way that always made the ache in her muscles shiver away.

 

She sniffled. “Jug, you’re going to get nail polish in my hair.” But there was no true malice in her voice, only the quiet thump of happiness that someone was here with her now, to help her through her misery and pain. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Possibly not ever again.

 

“Well, this is absolutely disgusting,” A familiar voice broken caused then to break apart, his fingers knotting in her hair and making her jolt with a tug. He cursed and tried to undo the mess while Veronica watched on with wide eyes and loud laughter. “Well, that was certainly something. Just like the catfight you and the Blossom witch had earlier. Absolutely fascinating. I didn’t know they could be so protective of people who weren’t their kind. Maybe the angel really never does leave you.”

 

Jughead sighed and leveled her with a frustrated stare. “Can I help you, Veronica, or did you just decide to show up so you could play peanut gallery from the barstool? Are you really getting paid to waste your time like that?”

 

“I’m not getting paid anything to follow you around and take notes on you like you’re some inane science fair project about electricity my father made me do. If you’d like, I can go back into the shadows and watch from there?”

 

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

 

“Good. Oh, I should say, I didn’t just come to break apart your disgusting moment. I came back from a meeting with your father, Jughead.” Immediately all the mirth from the air evaporated as Veronica leveled them both with a biting stare. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 8: The Updates

**Author's Note:**

> A few end notes to mention:
> 
> This is a prologue so chapters will likely be longer from here on out. Also, I promise things are going to have more levity in the future. You know me, and I like to be witty and funny, so I promise this will have more of that in the future.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and feel free to leave my a comment for any particular reason you see fit. Also follow me on the tumblr @tory-b


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